How is it that today, November 14th, 2016, here, just outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the tomatoes continue to ripen on the vine?
We’ve harvested 40 tomatoes, heritage tomatoes, big ones, little ones, orange, yellow, deep red, and purple ones, over the last two weeks. A couple of the vines are still setting lovely yellow flowers, would-be tomatoes, if not for the shortening, increasingly chilly days.
Still, this year, despite the paroxysms of the recent election, an election entirely too long in process, and far too ugly in tone, the tomatoes are just proceeding. Some of the early varieties are giving up the ghost, tomatoes continue to turn from green to yellow, or striped yellow and orange despite the dying vine. The later varieties remain vigorous despite the brief hours of daylight now. and consistently dropping temperatures. Big beautiful tomatoes turn gold to orange to red as I watch.
These tomatoes needed nothing more from me than tending, winding the vines around the supports, water, organic fertilizer, and an occasional spray of the leaves late in the season to knock the aphids off, just a watchful eye, and a little care. I find this comforting. I can do that.
The tomatoes are delicious. The plants smell divine. This year I am especially thankful for these plants, grateful not only for the fruit, but for their persistence. The season will end soon. I will pull the plants, ready the beds for winter. Whatever green tomatoes remain, I will tuck into a cardboard box in the basement, and close the top. Soon, I will open the box, and find the last red, ripe tomatoes of summer.
Last night held the bright light of the Beaver Moon in the sky. Last month, the Hunter’s Moon hung golden orange in the sky, low over the trees, looking huge. Next month, brings the Cold Moon. All three of these moons this year are supermoons, coming closer to the earth, appearing bigger than moons will again for decades.
I’ll be long gone the next time a moon as big as last night’s mega supermoon comes around, 68 years from now. I wasn’t alive when the last one lit the sky in 1948. My children will be in their 90s when the next one appears. But, next year, I will plant tomatoes again, and give thanks.
I love gardening. Gardening teaches me about everything. I do not know where my country is headed, but I will keep a watchful eye, and take care. Who knows what the harvest will be?
Simplydirt 