Sunday, October 2, 2011


   I pull out my soft scrub, fill up a bucket of water and scour the kitchen floor on my hands and knees.
The mop just will not do an adequate job removing the craziness that remains of the last week and a half.  Yes, I have lived with this dirty floor for at least ten days.

    I scrape a few stubborn tomato seeds of the floor.
Tomatoes.  Red, orange, striped and juicy. 

Hiding under leaves.

Exploding in our mouths, on shirts and, well, on my floor. 

They are squished into jars, to be opened on a dark winter night and add a bit of warmth an sunshine to our dinner plate. 

    I wipe the sticky streaks that stretch from my counter top to the stove.  
Little missiles of juice that coat everything - my knife, my hands and the tops of my toes - as I cut open plum after plum.  

They became a spicy plum sauce that is perfect with any kind of meat.  I canned twice the amount that I did last year.  I hope that this will last just long enough.

   I dip my rag into the warm water and wring it out.

Beets - bright red in the steaming water - are now lining the bottom of my pantry shelf.  

    I wipe down the front of the stove.
I wiped out the inside of my giant pot with a fresh slice of whole wheat bread and savored the remnants of the Apple Plum Ginger Jam that Kendall, Rachel and I processed in the downstairs kitchen while our children quietly dismantled the upstairs bedrooms. 

    I pour the dingy water out into my flower bed with satisfaction.

    I sip a cup of coffee.

   There is a giant bag of apples sitting on my counter.
Tomorrow, they will bubble on the stove, the smell will creep into every corner of our house and they will be transformed. 

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