I am at the library and somehow I am hungry, but as is my norm, I am hungry for particular things. Tonight it's:
  • The Kitchen is being flooded with tomatoes these days, which I AM SO HAPPY ABOUT! Earlier this week I made roasted Farm tomato soup with garlic and dill. So good. I don't have a recipe really, I change it every time I make it, but Mollie Katzen has a great garlicy tomato soup recipe in Moosewood. Also, always wanting to support other bloggers, I would also recommend Smitten Kitchen's Roasted Tomato Soup with Broiled Cheddar--it looks A-MA-ZING! Can't wait to try it!
  • Also craving a really, really juicy peach. I bought one from a street market in NYC last Thursday and just thinking about it is making my mouth water...mmm...drooling like Homer Simpson.
I can't wait to go into the Kitchen tomorrow morning and do some cooking. Library be damned tonight. This is my favorite time of year; abundance rains, as M put it today, "the fridge is really full!" We are still enjoying the gardens':
  • jalapenos (which I am pickling/canning)
  • Farm apples (which I have been applesaucing)
  • Kale
  • chard
  • broccoli
  • cauliflower
  • cabbage
  • green beans
  • lettuce
  • eggplants
  • summer squash and zucchini
  • edamame
  • also, spices from our little Kitchen garden
  • and some other things which I know I am forgetting
I am excited for fall, but afraid of this abundances' waning.

XXXIX (from Last Poems)
When summer's end is nighing
And skies at evening cloud,
I muse on change and fortune
And all the feats I vowed
When I was young and proud.

The weathercock at sunset
Would lose the slanted ray,
And I would climb the beacon
That looked to Wales away
And saw the last of day.

From hill and cloud and heaven
The hues of evening died;
Night welled through lane and hollow
And hushed the countryside,
But I had youth and pride.

And I with earth and nightfall
In converse high would stand,
Late, till the west was ashen
And darkness hard at hand,
And the eye lost the land.

The year might age, and cloudy
The lessening day might close,
But air of other summers
Breathed from beyond the snows,
And I had hope of those.

They came and were and are not
And come no more anew;
And all the years and seasons
That ever can ensue
Must now be worse and few.

So here's an end of roaming
On eves when autumn nighs:
The ear too fondly listens
For summer's parting sighs,
And then the heart replies.

--AE Housman


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