The Harvest

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I harvested green tomatoes from the garden, rescuing them from a killing frost, rubbing them dry and stuffing them into a brown bag. They sit in the darkness to ripen red, and then I’ll freeze them whole, and use them in winter stews and soups.

Nik didn’t like gardening so much, but he loved to cook. Together, we made fried green tomatoes, green tomato jam, and chutney. We didn’t appreciate the fried green tomatoes or the green jam, but the chutney had a unique flavor that tasted good in eggs, curry, chicken, and beans.

Although I continue to garden, relishing the dirt underneath my fingernails and the observance of life, I can’t seem to get myself to turn my bounty into canned goods. The process, heavy labor, is lonely without my son’s glowing smile and his daring cooking antics. When he died, my ability to can died with him, and the glass jars we used to fill with our produce from the garden sit in a shelf, collecting dust.

I’ve learned other ways to harvest the garden goods. The herbs I dry in the green house, and I freeze corn, squash, tomatoes, and this year, basil and peppers. The pumpkins I still render into pumpkin gook, so that I can make Nik’s pumpkin pie during the holidays.

Blue skies touched by a wisp of gray clouds hovers outside my window, as I finish my morning coffee, and prepare myself for another day of garden clean up. I miss you Nik, every day.