From its beginnings almost four years ago, Diary of a Tomato quickly grew from a record of the garden to a kind of love letter to a particular time, place, and person. How I savored every moment of it — from nurturing seedlings to full fruition, taking what we grew and making something delicious, to the pleasures of our shared table. Things change, however, such is the way of life. I now find myself living in different circumstances and, save for a narrow swath of herbs, without a garden. In a way, this brings me closer to and very much dependent on the larger local food community that surrounds me, and I’m grateful for how it sustains and nourishes me, body and soul. Food has always been a personal subject for me, and when one knows the people who grow, prepare and serve it, it becomes even more so. Thank-you, dear friends, for visiting me here as I continue exploring this remarkable world — snacks and field trips included — and for joining me in celebrating all that we together are creating.
- Thinking globally, eating locally in Southern Coastal Maine, Seacoast New Hampshire, and beyond
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- My song of snow in sight
- Sushi and a Skate
- (Re)Learning to Ski in Craftsbury, Vermont
- Year of the Rooster
- Putting Up: Pickled Cranberries
- Tomato & Eggplant Tart
- Interlude: Mooncake — The Lost Art
- Putting Up: Crushed Tomatoes and an Anniversary
- Salad Days — Lobster with Corn and Basil
- First signs of spring
- Pan-Fried Noodles with Curried Chicken & Tofu
- farmers' markets
- fun jen
- local flour
- mastering food preservation
- salad greens
- season extension
- summer squash
- winter squash
A garden is what you make of it whether it is acres, small bed, a few herbs, a patio pot with a cherry tomato or a local food community. It’s a season. It’s a time of year for fresh. Enjoy those veggies and fruits wherever you get them. :-)
Thank-you, Judy, for that lovely thought and reminder…
Thanks for the soulful update and reflections. You have reminded me that our gardens large, small, or only “of the mind” deepen us and connect us to what’s essential, including one another.
And thank you, Dale, for leaving your thoughts, illuminating as always…
Just like the garden, there are seasons for everything. Enjoy this new way of life.
Thank-you, Jane, I’ve come to not only be more present in my new life but to embrace it.
Oh, my empathy! I am moving to a fifth floor apartment in a lovely city – but right around the corner is a serene street with bungalows and gardens – and I’m signed up for a plot at a community garden. My heart keeps your heart company until we can once again have our gardens.
Oh, Katrina, what a complete change for you! It’s difficult to leave behind the things we love, but in change is opportunity. I’m glad you’ll have access to a community garden, and what different riches you’ll find there!
Ah, change. The new may take some getting used to, but there’s always opportunity in change. I look forward to reading the new adventures and learning about who you meet in your pursuits of fresh food.
Oh, Jane, yes, and thank-you for your encouraging words…
I love what Jane has said and couldn’t agree more.
It’s not what I thought I would choose, but am finding joy and happiness nonetheless…
I have enjoyed reading your blog very much, with your adventures in local eating. I hope to continue reading it, and sharing your Maine life vicariously. But I detect somber undertones to the loss of the garden. Perhaps a loss of a different kind? Be well, be happy. And enjoy continued adventures in local cuisine.
I’m honored to have such perceptive readers as yourself, Lou. The loss of the garden is just one of many things that have changed profoundly in my life… let’s just say that after all this time writing in the plural voice, I’m now finding my own…
I look forward to following your explorations of this remarkable world wherever that new journey takes you. No matter what size gardens you are able to cultivate, be sure to keep your hands in the soil along the way.
Thanks for the reminder, Annie — the smell, feel, touch of dirt is essential to who we all are, and from whence we came from and all destined to return to someday…