Besoaked

It’s been raining nearly non-stop for the last two days, and the temperature won’t get over the mid-sixties. I’ve got dozens of tomatoes I’m dying to pick but they just sit there on the vine: plump, green, and tempting. The very picture of refusal. I spent a morning working in the garden at Good Fatherers yesterday and it was the same deal: six, seven, eight maybe hundred pounds of tomatoes weighing down three hundred plants, and we picked less than eighty pounds. I never thought I would be the one saying this, but I could really really use a really really hot sunny day. Just one.