I have always loved tomatoes.
Like many New England families, we made them a staple in our backyard garden. As a little girl, I spent summer days working the soil with my dad, sun-kissed and joyful, pulling little cherry tomatoes straight off the vine and right into our mouths. I still love the way the skin feels popping between my teeth, bursting with a sweet, acidic flavor.
But what did we do at the end of tomato season? Where did all the green ones go?
About a week ago I went to my dad’s house, the same home I grew up in. As I approached his backyard, memories rushing back, it was clear that summer was really over. I stepped over fallen leaves, filled my lungs with crisp, autumn air and felt the little hairs on my arms rise as October’s breeze grazed my neck. The wet grass from the previous night’s torrential downpours brushed against my ankles, and then I saw it: His beautiful tomato vines sprawled out against the wet concrete, cast aside like a Halloween skeleton on the first of November. What? But why?
Finish reading “Waste Not, Want Not: A Green Tomato Rescue” on edible Boston | This story appeared as an online exclusive in October 2019.