I finished canning tomatoes at 3 A.M. this morning.
I planned to tackle the remaining tomatoes after breakfast today, but a look at them last evening showed that
I would have even more going to waste in a few hours.
The Roma tomatoes were of good quality, but the large round ones had woody green cores and like the ones from our own garden they had cracks in the tops which allowed rot to set in before the fruit was fully ripened.
I was over canning tomatoes a good hour before I had them all steamed and chunked into the kettles for a preliminary quick stewing. [I've found the partially cooked tomatoes "settle" into the jars with less wasted head room than if they are "cold-packed."]
I was getting clumsy and dull-witted--managing to slop juice, seeds, peels down the cabinet door and onto the floor when I lifted the refuse bucket for a final trip to my scrap heap.
My feet slid through dew-soaked grass as I trudged beyond the circle of the garage light.
The night air was cool on my sweaty face and nipped through the damp patches where I had dripped water down the front of my jeans.
A few cicadas scraped in the maple tree, coyotes bayed from somewhere comfortingly removed from the civilization of the dooryard.