Time, Tide, and Tomatoes

As summer wanes, I find myself falling into an increasingly contemplative mood, as I always do at this time of year. It is a pattern established early in my life when I first began to understand the limits of mortality. The collapse of summer into fall makes me restless. Life seems short and fragile. My garden, so recently robust, totters in old age and decay. As I watch the harvest advance and the dormant days approach, I feel it in my own body.

For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away. (1 Peter 1:24)

That’s why I take extra delight in every beautiful day that remains before the frost comes. Darkness is advancing. The days grow shorter. It’s too dark in the mornings now at the hour when I wake up to take my usual walk. I have to wait for more light. And on mornings when I get called in to school, I have to forego my walk until the evening. But no matter, morning or evening, I feel the need to be out for as long as the weather and light allow. I’m gathering memories to store as mental fuel against bleaker times when I will need to remember that the seasons will turn again and bring back light and life.

From one of my morning walks last week.

Watching a beaver while on a morning walk.

Another morning walk.

A while back I wanted to find something that I remembered writing about in my journal a long time ago. It was back in 1975 when I was 17, something someone had taught me that impressed me enough for me to want to record it in my journal. So I went back and looked for the entry. It took me some time to find it, but it set me to reading through those long ago thoughts and events again. It’s interesting to revisit my teenage years. I began keeping a journal on July 27, 1975. I’d been to the stationers and bought a spiral bound notebook and I couldn’t think of anything else to do with it but write about myself. I wrote with a fountain pen and green ink because I thought fountain pens were cool and green is my favorite color. A few months later in October of that year when Spencer W. Kimball, prophet and president of the church, began emphasizing journal keeping, I remember feeling a bit smug that I was already doing that. In the years that followed, I filled many notebooks and later hardbound journals with the details of my life. One winter a number of years ago, I transcribed my old journals onto the computer to make them easier to access. I don’t go back and visit them often, but when I do, I’m always surprised that I’ve forgotten so much – things that would have been lost had I not written them down – and some things best forgotten even though I did write them down. This time, going back to 1975, I could see that most of things I recorded were mundane – what movies I’d been to see, what music I was listening to, what books I was reading, what my friends and I were doing. Much of it is silly. I forget sometimes how dumb I was when I was a teenager. Occasionally I wrote something surprisingly profound. Back then, I discovered right away that keeping a journal was great therapy. It was a way to get things off my chest without causing trouble with those around me. That was especially true while I was on my mission when I filled four thick journals in two years. After my mission and on into my married life, I continued to write, but as life got busier I wrote less frequently. When we moved here in 2000, the way I kept my journal changed. I began writing a weekly account of what was happening with us in our new home and sending it to my far-flung family by email. At first it was the Weekly Update and then it became the Potter County Journal. Over the years even that has changed as other people have asked to be included in my emails which then also became a blog and then I began adding photographs. And here we are. I still write about mundane things – the music I’m listening to (Mozart Piano Concertos right now), the movies we’re watching (we just finished our Harry Potter marathon, complete with treats), the books I’m reading (the novels of Richard Peck right now), the weather, my garden, my family. I guess I live a rather mundane life – and I prefer it that way.

Harry Potter treats made by Miriam.

Josiah and I kept busy all week as we continued to work on tasks on my Project List. On Monday we tackled the upper part of the barn where we keep the buckets of feed, livestock and garden equipment, and other items. Because it has lots of ventilation openings to the outside, it accumulates dust from the road and there are huge cobwebs from the many big spiders living there. We swept up dust and knocked down cobwebs, relocated a dozen spiders, and rearranged things. When we were done, we were covered with sweat, dust, and cobwebs, but the barn looked pretty good. From there, we went out to the big garden and picked tomatoes.

The upper barn after cleaning.

We pick tomatoes every two days now and we get about two five-gallon bucketfuls each time we pick. The old saying says that time and tide wait for no man. I’ll add tomatoes to that list. A bucketful of ripe tomatoes cannot wait. Once it’s there, it must be dealt with. If left to sit for any length of time, fruit flies and mold appear as if by magic. And despite what the Osmonds’ 1971 hit song says, one bad apple does in fact spoil the whole bunch, and that is even more true for tomatoes. One bad tomato quickly shares its slimy demise with all its bucket mates. [BTW, the meaning of the original idiom was that one bad apple actually does spoil the bunch and dates back to Chaucer’s The Cook’s Tale from The Canterbury Tales (1400) where the Cook says in reference to his no-good apprentice Perkin Reveler, “Wel bet is roten appul out of hoord than that it rotie al the remenaunt.” (Well better is a rotten apple out of the store than that it rot all the remnant.)] So all through the week every plan I had for the day had to wait until I processed tomatoes first. Tuesday morning I canned fourteen pints of salsa and five quarts of tomato sauce.

A sink full of tomatoes waiting to be canned.

One Bad Apple.

Several years ago, my friend Nancy Jones gave me two potted angel’s trumpets (Brugmansia). They were in gallon pots, a few feet tall, with large leaves. That summer the plants grew to be about four feet tall. Toward the end of summer each plant produced five or six beautiful, fragrant bell shaped flowers and I was delighted. Brugmansia are very tender plants, so when they dropped their leaves that fall, I brought the pots into the house and overwintered them in the music room. The next year when I repotted them in larger pots and set them outdoors, they grew to about six feet and had a dozen flowers late in the summer. That fall, the plants were too big to bring into the house, so I put them down cellar where I forgot all about them until spring. When I brought the pots up, the plants were completely dead and I was sad. But Nancy was kind and gave me two more plants and I’ve taken better care of these two. They have survived a winter in the cellar (this time I remembered to give them some water occasionally) and this year they are spectacular. I put them in even bigger pots and set them on the back porch stairs. Over the summer, they grew taller and taller. Finally in early August, a few flower buds appeared and I was pleased. Then in mid-August dozens of buds emerged and they are in full bloom now. The plants are eight feet tall. The flowers are a foot long and creamy yellow darkening to orange as they mature. In the evening when the flowers open, their fragrance is intoxicating – a clean floral citrus perfume. They are the best thing blooming in my garden right now and one of the most impressive plants I have ever grown.

My angel's trumpets.

My angel's trumpets.

My angel's trumpets.

We planted two potato patches this year and on Tuesday Josiah and I dug up the smaller of the two. There were a lot of potatoes, russets and reds. Some had been chewed on by voles, but most of them were in good shape. Josiah dug up the other big potato patch on Friday. The spuds are now curing in the woodshed and on the back porch before we store them to use over the winter. We had a pretty good harvest. Out in the big garden, the peas are gone and their bed is being prepared for garlic to go in at the end of the month. The pumpkin vines are dying back, revealing the big pumpkins ripening under their leaves. We are also making new beds for next year.

Digging the small potato patch.

Harvesting the big potato patch.

The big garden without peas.

Pumpkins revealing themselves.

On Wednesday the remnants of Hurricane Ida arrived here. Unlike other places to the south and the east of us, we just had steady rain all day. No flash floods, just rain. I spent the day indoors, only venturing out to do the afternoon chores. I had new sign orders to work on and that kept me busy.

Thursday, after the rain stopped, it was sunny and clear, but cooler. We went from daytime temperatures in the 80's to highs only in the 60's and nights in the low 40's. It looks like it will stay like that from now until it gets even colder. September is an unpredictable month. Sometimes we bake, sometimes we freeze. I’m all for baking, but it doesn’t look like that will happen. We often get our first frost in September. I’m not ready for that. My garden is not ready for that. I divided my time on Thursday between processing tomatoes, working on sign orders, and weeding the garden. At the end of the day I had seven more pints of salsa, four quarts of sauce, two partly finished signs, and a wagon full of weeds. It was a satisfying day.

Cleaning out my vegetable garden.

Friday I was called into school for the first time. I was in the music department, which was nice. Having been back to school now, summer seems on its last legs to me. That afternoon when I got home from school, the weather was perfect and I spent the remaining daylight hours out in the garden. I cleaned out three of my raised beds to get them ready for next year. I picked some peppers to freeze. I weeded some flower beds. The air was mild, but the sun was hot on my back as I worked. The tadpoles in our little pond have grown legs now and there hundreds of tiny toads everywhere. I had to be careful as I worked not to harm them.

Stacey left for a quick trip west on Wednesday evening. She flew out to Utah to go to our niece’s wedding and to help at the reception. She stayed with Geoffrey and Joni. She arrived home again yesterday. She returned to a full house. The Thayns arrived here yesterday to spend Labor Day weekend with us. They drove part way here on Friday and camped for the night at Sizerville State Park. Hannah, and Josiah drove down to camp with them. Miriam and I did not. Miriam was busy baking and I had no desire to give up my warm and comfortable bed for a sleeping bag. The camping party arrived here at noon. Stacey arrived at 7:00 that evening.

Miriam's baking and my canning.

Things were very lively after everyone was here yesterday. It was a beautiful day and we spent it outdoors. We went on a hunt for monarch butterfly caterpillars. We pulled up some carrots. We picked raspberries. We had a fun time recreating some photos from the past. Some of us went fishing in the late afternoon. And of course there was lots of food preparation and consumption. We’re good at food. Last night we watched the final installment of our Harry Potter Marathon, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. The treat that Miriam made was cream puffs, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Jelly Beans, and butter beer (made from cream soda and butterscotch).

On a caterpillar hunt (you can see one on leaf in the front).

Pulling carrots.

Picking raspberries.

Mabel and Josiah two years ago and now.

Hazel at one, four, and eight (now).

Our final Harry Potter treat.

We decided to have our Labor Day cookout today right after church. It rained this morning, but it has stopped now, so we are going to risk eating outdoors over at the Shillig’s house. If the rain resumes, we’ll move indoors over here. We’re having the traditional Labor Day cookout fare – hot dogs, hamburgers, potato salad, pickled eggs, pasta salad, Watergate salad, chips, and homemade ice cream. Dinner should be starting soon. Our nephew Ammon and his wife are due to arrive at any moment. They are stopping for the night on their way to New York City. We’re happy to add more family to the mix. Tomorrow will be a mixture of work and play. We hope to begin replacing the kitchen floor. That will be a big project involving some of the adults. Other adults will be in charge of keeping the children involved in play. The Thayns will leave for home at some point tomorrow. Josiah leaves on Thursday to return to school in Idaho. Then things will seem far too normal again.