Hello all. I wish I could say I was wrapped up in writing a spellbinding novel to be published at the end of the month, but I’m not. Instead I’m figuring out just how challenging it is to stretch your abilities and talents into a different activity.
Ever feel like the winds of inspiration have abandoned your sails? You’re left with this hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach as you look at a blank computer screen. And it only gets more hollow the longer it takes to post anything this month.
The lazy part of my brain just want’s to skip this month’s food writing challenge altogether and dive back into scary stories. But where would the challenge be there? So if you are out there reading this, and wondering where I’ve gone to know this: I’m somewhere, trying to write something. Maybe even sweating a little as I do it.
So here, have a picture of the last harvest from my garden.
November does not feel like it’s usual self this year. Clipping wild tomato bushes back, I couldn’t help but look up at the empty azure sky and think:
Where’s the clouds? Where’s the snow?
“Dad, dad! Look at me! I’m picking tomatoes!” My son gave me a wide smile as he pulled an entire clump of green and orange cherry tomatoes. He tossed them into a large bowl resting on unfrozen grass.
“Great job kid! Can you grab these over here?” With a determined swagger he all but launched himself onto what remained of the bush.
Crouching down I yanked a small tomato stump from the soil. Clods of dry soil spilled over my feet as I shook twisting roots free. I felt a small hand pat my back as my other son fished around the bowl for a juicy red treat.
“Happy! Happy!” He said, tomato seeds and juice dripping from his mouth.
There we all were, in shorts and T-shirts soaking in the plentiful vitamin D.
Instead I was sweating, and wiping dirt across my forehead.
Shouldn’t I be shoveling snow? Shouldn’t there be a snowman in the yard? I looked at the trowel in my hand. At least shouldn’t I have cracked knuckles?
Yup, this definitely wasn’t November.