Last of the tomatoes

Clearing out the garden tonight I noticed the sun had shifted a little lower and a whole lot faster than a mere month ago.  New Hampshire growing season is slowing up a step, like my little dog, Emily.  She was fascinated with things I could never see or smell, while I scrounged for the last of the Roma tomatoes, some squash and a few cucumbers.  I think the entire cost of planting this past spring cost me a lot more than if I just bought them locally somewhere, but then the aroma of the plants and ground and veggies would not have clung to my sweater as I put my treasures of the kitchen counter.

Emily was hesitant to come in on my heels as she usually does, having locked eyes onto a greedy squirrel who had no fear of our presence.  We had much earlier in the season learned to share our produce with the locals-deer, birds and a very chunky-looking pair of chipmunks.  Emmie would have nothing of the squirrel's unwelcome visit disturbing her sniffing reverie.

Tonight the temperature will dip below freezing, testing to how welcome this kind of weather will be received. 

There are many people with the an economic chill upon them, I shiver to think of my friends and neighbors being thrown into a winter of foreclosure, job insecurity, things that keep you awake at night wondering just how to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads.

If it is any consolation, please be kind to yourself, take what you can out of your garden, and know, that for today, you did all you could.  Take time with your loved ones, gather them like treasures, let their love cling to you.  Tomorrow is another day.