It’s been stunningly beautiful for as long as my short memory permits. Bright cerulean blue skies every morning, a rustling fall breeze working its way through the evergreens and shaking the leaves off the deciduous trees. I have finally plateaued in my tomato harvest and I’m about to harvest my first jalapenos- and it’s October 5th. Granted they’re all happily snug in a makeshift greenhouse but there are still tomatoes and peppers -- in fact so many I am quietly wishing the bunnies would find them. I’ve made pints on end of sauce, crushed tomatoes, ketchup, passata, dried tomatoes, and frozen cherry tomatoes. I wait for these beauties all year long -- rarely do I enjoy one out of season because they are so uniformly terrible. When they come we enjoy them lustily and gorge for weeks -- and then, suddenly, I’ve had enough. No more tomatoes. We go on hiatus for months, until sometime in the early dark of winter, a can of garden crushed tomatoes is pureed into a creamy tomato soup, into which we’ll plunge sourdough and Irish cheddar grilled sandwiches. It is then that I’ll start the long climb to spring, and long for next year’s far away harvest.