I started 4 or 5 varieties of tomato seeds for the early garden.
I lost at least half of my seedlings when I potted them on into a cheap brand of potting soil.
Ironically, those that remained--in decent soil-- were nearly all small early 'salad' tomatoes.
We enjoyed them in salads--until the lettuce bolted--we've sliced them for sandwiches and and sides.
They are too small for canning--if one could even contemplate a steaming kitchen these days.
J. has put a few of them in the juicer along with other vegs for fresh juice.
This morning 2 collanders full squatted on the counter and a reluctant venture into the upper garden yielded me 3 more collanders full, while J. gleaned a small bucket full from the lower garden.
I decided to make juice, freeze it in small containers to take out and pop into a kettle of winter soup.
[I threw out a bevy of plastic containers several months ago, as they tumbled out each time I opened the upper door of the Hoosier hutch.]
Today I filled 9 containers with the juice and stowed them downstairs in the freezer.
G. arrived as I was about to dismantle the juicer, sampled my product and decided to make up a container for her fridge.
J. has been the juice maker since we purchsed the machine several weeks ago.
Some batches are great, some are rather bland, only one or two have been of a taste that made me gulp a glassful down quickly--not relishing it, but knowing it was good for me.
With the kitchen tidied, I came in here to sort photos on the computer, windows closed and shutters folded in to keep out the heat.
J. parked himself in front of the TV [he has a 'free' month of the western movie channel to enjoy--bang, bang, head 'em off at the pass, etc]
Mid-afternoon our family whirled into the dooryard with burgers and hot dogs for M. to cook on the grill. I took cold boiled potatoes and hard-boiled eggs from the fridge and G. and I collaborated to quickly create a potato salad.
I produced an unopened carton of choc-chip mint ice cream for dessert.
I have sat out in the dusk this evening, watching fireflies dart and flash over the front yard, listening for the whip-poor-wills and the cicadas tuning up, hearing also, with resignation, the crack and boom of fireworks set off in the neighborhood.
Fireworks seem like a dangerous indulgence in this drought-crisped countryside!
The local man couldn't repair my camera--a small piece is broken in the battery compartment door.
Any photos I've taken recently have been of poor quality as I need to pinch the door tight while trying to aim and steady the camera.
I shall send it off tomorrow to be rehabilitated--an expensive casualty.
It has been dropped a few times in the 4 years I've owned it. When Mima pushed it from my desk, it simply landed the wrong way.
Since I can't reliably keep the cats from sitting on my desk, the obvious solution would be to keep the camera in its case--in the drawer!