This is the End
Frost Marks the Season's End
Frost at Midnight
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
Sadly, frost arrived at TomatoTown. Of course, Farmer J would prefer to cover up the whole garden with a warm, fuzzy blanket, especially, when the plants had made such a perfect rebound. Instead, Farmer T and Farmer J filled baskets and baskets with green and slowly blushing tomatoes. We had planned to make a green tomato pie for Thanksgiving, but after a couple weeks inside in our cozy kitchen, most all of the green tomatoes have ripened. Farmer T isn’t complaining. He has eaten more tomato sandwiches in the last couple weeks than he ate all summer. What a strange end to a strange growing season.
Leave a Reply