Tomatoes, tomatoes, tomatoes.

This was only the second year I planted tomatoes. I used "Early Girls"--they mature in a mere 54 days, which fits in, loosely, with my propensity for instant gratification.

The eventual height of my plants reached six feet, and the widths were, counting hanging branches, about four feet. I hadn't expected such a large crop. As the fruit matured I'd pick the red ones and gleefully bounce into the house to show my wife my agrarian prowess.

Soon they were producing so quickly that all our BTL's, hamburgers, salads, etc. were not enough to even dent my supply.

This soon led my wife to ask, "Why the hell did you plant so many?"

I began distributing them to my neighbors--I'd say about twenty pounds of them--sometimes repeating my rounds. This stopped when they began to give my funny looks. I think they were running out of new ways to say "thank you."

I then started making tomato sauce. I now have three gallons of sauce, in quart jars, in the freezer section. We ate a lot of packaged, frozen food to make the room. It takes roughly ten "Early Girls" to make a quart; so figure I used 120 tomatoes in sauce alone.

At this time I have approximately 150 ripe tomatoes sitting around doing nothing. I bought mason jars, and a large canning pot this week figuring, out of necessity, I would have to learn this dying art.

Next year: bell peppers only.