I woke up Saturday morning to an email telling me my community garden was closed until further notice.
My prolific plot that has kept me in more kale than I ever thought possible is behind a vacated church that was set on fire late last week. To say this is a bummer is beyond an understatement and almost as unnecessary as pointing out the sky is blue. Alas, it is what it is — a jut-your-bottom-lip-out D-R-A-G.
Last time I saw my tiny patch of dirt a few days before the bad news, there were tomatoes on the verge of being fully ripe and ready for picking. And now that I’m living a freelancer’s life, I was looking forward to having the time between interviews and columns to go fetch them and yank a few weeds in the process. After all, I now work for the coolest boss ever who would let me take an extra long lunch to do these sorts of things.
The dog days of the season are here and I know this by the amount of tomatoes I’ve been eating. While I’ve been having problems keeping up with my kale, I never have an issue staying on top of my tomatoes.