Friday, 1 July 2011 | 13 comments
A very real danger looms that every post from now until the beginning of September will follow the same basic format: I will relate to you the account of a fruit or vegetable I found at the market or grew in my garden, and proceed to gush over it like a lovesick pre-teen doodling hearts in the margins of her notebook ( Sarah + tomato = <3 <3 <3 4ever).
I can’t help it. I want to fall down and worship at the altar of Demeter or Ceres or whichever deity you would like to consider responsible for summer harvests. Every time I discover a blossom in the garden that has started becoming a fruit or pod, I drop everything and run inside to grab my camera, snapping away like a doting mama. You know how parents are apt to show you picture after picture of their kids in various stages of, say, smooshing a first-birthday cake into their face? That’s how my photo library is right now, except instead of children, it’s pictures of orangey-gold squash blossoms and tiny, green cherry tomatoes no bigger than a pinky fingernail.
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