Most of the summer my night and early morning routine has included filling watering cans and soliticiously making sure the tomato plants had enough to drink. That reminds me we have had warm, even hot, days this year, hard to remember now when it feels more like late October than early September. Last night I went to bed in my winter pyjamas. I am back in socks, long trousers, jumpers and even a coat.
But each day, despite the gloom, we harvest. That watering has paid dividends. The basil has been bushy for weeks; the lemon balm is suddenly looking promising after months of being undersized and weak; the thyme, planted last summer, is absolutely settled and expanding; and the parsley, recovered from its infestion of white fly, is green and plentiful. The green beans are nearly over – though I ate one last night – the peppers are ripe and hot.
But its the tomatoes who are the stars. We have about eight plants; different varieties; some small, some large; some yellow, some red. And all delicious.
I love this one so much I can hardly bear to eat it. Maybe I’ll photograph it being cut in half and incorporated into salad when I do. It is becoming redder and redder sitting in the kitchen.