Panic

On my way to work this morning I heard on the radio that there was a chance of frost tonight. Already? Are you kidding? The consequences of this small bit of information sent shock waves through my system. So I start with the obvious first step - pick every single tomato with the slightest inkling of color. Great except I didn't get home until 6:45, darkness was already setting in, and Raph was at an open house. Makili was good-natured about it and even helpful for all of about 3 minutes, then he started throwing green tomatoes at me and whining. Then with hands tightly clenching green cherry tomatoes, he fell, forehead first into the ground. This is the third time in two days he's done this, and so now I am likely to be questioned by child protection services for neglect, since my child has scratches, bumps and bruises all over his forehead.

So obviously I stop picking tomatoes (after the crying doesn't subside) and soothe my injured child. He wants to nurse, so I oblige right there (rather than waste the time going inside, etc.) While nursing I realize I need help and telephone good ol' Tim two miles away for some back up. Though he is in the midst of making lobster rizotto, he drops everything and heads over to help me finish picking, cover the heirlooms (who really are just getting going because we put them in late), and then frantically he follows me with bags as I fill them with swiss chard, cucumbers and basil, things I know don't handly frost well. Makili at this point has calmed down a bit, resting on the whining plateau since it is his bedtime.

Tim takes off to see that lovely Tamara, who has been working her tail of, get dinner by 8. I now just need to get everything in the house, which isn't so tough for everything just bagged, but our entire back porch is full of recently picked tomatoes too, which have been sunning for a few days. Makili has lost patience with me and heads inside, then changes his mind and tries to come back out. He opens the door, steps out, only to have the screen door close on his little leg. More crying ensues until I let him help me fill the bag, which more aptly could be described as allowing him to throw perfectly good tomatoes at me and on the ground.

After he went to bed, I stacked the least ripe tomatoes on the window sill, the rest in bowls. And as I'm doing this, it occurs to me that if it will becold enough for my tomatoes, I probably also should bring in my house plants. Those that have survived anyway. There is one big one that only Raph can carry, and so we might lost it, but otherwise, they're safe, at least from the cold. I'm still around to keep them on their toes with infrequent or too frequent water, dark corners, etc.

In this last picture you can see the Leaning Tower of Jam in the background, and this thought brings about a whole new line of thinking. What the hell am I going to do with myself. You have probably noticed that in the last 4 months, there haven't been new quilts posted. No new projects. No new recently read books on the sidebar there. Frost is more than worrying about the tomatoes. It is a new era. It is back to basics away from canning (THANK GOD) over to quilting, crafting, reading, exercising (which has been picking up in earnest! I am up to running over 2.5 miles, in part due to my Aunt Jean's encouragement.), and whatever else I did before I became completely garden obsessed. Obviously this doesn't start tomorrow. There will be squash to pick, sweet potatoes to dig up, beds to put to sleep, new beds to prepare for spring, etc., but things will change rapidly. The goddamn mosquitos will finally die for one thing. Whew.

Oh and according to the computer the low tonight is only supposed to be 41 degrees.