It's August, which means that the tomatoes that haven't been picked off already by the bunnies are getting ripe. It's amazing how quickly you go from no tomatoes to embarrassing surplus, and it's a struggle to eat them all before they get soft and unappealing. I have begun to resort to dropping them off at people's houses when they're not home.
We ate the red salad with lunch today, and the green salad with "Flight of the Conchords" tonight. It went surprisingly well with the Snowcaps. The red tomatoes taste a lot better but the green ones have a certain novelty factor you can't underestimate.
Truly, there is nothing like a homegrown tomato. I can't honestly say if I liked it better when we were too busy to grow anything, or if it is better to have the sort of life where you can't be bothered to go home and water. Right now this suits us, but it's like living in a Countrytime Lemonade commercial. Low and slow, that is the tempo.
A good friend of ours called tonight to talk about a new love affair. He's completely enamored with someone new, and shocked by how swept up he is. No time to water, no time to go home, except to burn a new mix CD to give as a gift. Really even a plant on his balcony would be impractical. Someday when he's living in Westchester with five kids and a tomato patch, he'll think about this summer in wonder. Right now, we've got enough for everyone.