Gardens and Seasons




If you thought Labor Day was the end of summer, think again. We had beautiful weather until Hugo struck our shores.

Suddenly the stiff winds dropped our temperature to almost freezing. I reached for an extra blanket that night. I never knew mothballs smelled so good.

My daughter, who lives in Starlight, Indiana, came in after the hurricane passed with a basket of pears and apples. Living that far inland and the wind stripped the trees in her orchard. We could hardly believe it.

Some time ago the Courier-Journal said it was raining tomatoes in the Louisville gardens. I believe it, our five backyard plants were loaded.

When it was time to stake them, I fortified myself with a hammer, stakes and ties. I pounded and pounded. I thought that would do it, but not for long. The vines were so heavy that they pulled the stakes to the ground. Then the chipmunks took over, making tunnels in the yard and eating the tomatoes.

Better luck next time.

My grandmother told me long ago that tomatoes were known as love apples and thought to be poison. Sometimes they were planted in the flowerbeds for color. They never knew what they were missing.

At a luncheon sometime ago, we were asked to name our favorite vegetable. I said, without hesitation, "tomatoes", my daughter said, "corn", my cousin said, "cauliflower", and someone said, "pickles." That brought the house down. "Well if not pickles then okra," she said. Ugh! To each his own.


Jean Martin Wallace, Mary Eleanor and June Martin Smith