sweet sixteen

So, I suppose we knew this day would come: I believe the technical term for that would be a whole hell of a lot of tomatoes. Keep in mind that that's only the haul I picked on Sunday; there were still tomatoes in the fridge that I'd picked on Wednesday, and I think we still had some from the weekend before waiting to be used.

Note that almost all the green tomatoes are ripe green zebras (which are pretty delicious), not unripe tomatoes. Also note that there is a lot more fruit still ripening on the dead-looking plants. The cherries and grapes are slightly closer to being tapped out, although one of the grape plants is inexplicably still flowering. The three mystery plants from my neighbor, which I have determined are heirlooms, have produced exactly zero ripe tomatoes. All of which is to say, there are a lot more tomatoes to come.

No complaints, though -- it's actually pretty fun, and theoretically, I knew what I was getting into when I planted 16 tomato plants. But I think it's no coincidence that I keep forgetting my camera when I go to the garden these days... my subconscious doesn't want to document how pitifully sad it looks. Tomato plants totally fried despite the red ripe fruit, cilantro and mint and oregano all gone to seed, significant squash bug damage. And the butternut squash plants seem to have the same disease as the tomatoes, somehow, even though I think wilt is just a tomato disease. There are three biggish butternut squash, but they don't seem anywhere close to ripe. The basil is still thriving, although I'm told it goes bitter if you leave it too long and I need to figure out what to do with, like, half an acre of the stuff after I'm totally pesto-ed out. Oh, and the new planting of lettuce is doing OK too, so there's hope for a full salad yet.

Here is my favorite tomato, and yes I had a favorite tomato. It was one of the keepsakes and it was just so freaking huge the whole time, growing weirdly trapped at the very bottom of a plant, sandwiched between seven other tomatoes that aren't ripe yet. His name is Giant Tomato: Please ignore the fact that I appear to be making out with Giant Tomato. No tomatoes were harmed in the taking of this photo.

J. displays Giant Tomato's fabled giantness and carefully cultivated sense of balance: The question now is, what do we do with him? I cooked up a quadruple batch of fresh tomato soup that is pretty good (barely put a dent in the supply), but I feel like Giant Tomato needs something more auspicious and solemn, like a sonnet composed in his honor or a memorial erected in the town square.