Summer. Smile.

May 20, 2014

God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world, and there are greenhouse tomatoes at the Farmers’ Market.

I’ve had my first BLT, and my first caprese. Life is good.

Don't need bread. Don't need lettuce, either. Slaw and potato salad are nice extras.

Don’t need bread. Don’t need lettuce, either. Slaw and potato salad are nice extras.

One of the things I really worried about, leaving Hot Springs, was the availability of greenhouse tomatoes. An Amish family, the Stutzmanns, grew them somewhere in that part of the world, and had them at the market from late February on. And I bought them religiously.

And, lo and behold, the second weekend of the Jonesboro market, what did I find? An Amish vendor with baskets of gorgeous, glorious ripe tomatoes. Greenhouse grown. Six bucks for about three pounds, and worth every penny of it.

Homegrown basil, too.

Homegrown basil, too.

The top photo was my lunch that afternoon. The one above was my dinner that night.

Odd thing with these tomatoes. The top inch or so on the stem end, when you just cut that sliver off the top, looks like nothing in the world so much as though it’s only about half ripe. Get past that, and it’s fine. Weird. I’ve never seen that in a tomato, and I’ve sliced lots of tomatoes.

I’ll be a happy woman when the heirloom tomatoes — especially the Arkansas Travelers and the Cherokee Purples — come in, but for now, these will most assuredly do. If you ‘n y’mama ‘n ’em are successful growing heirlooms in a greenhouse, I may go into the greenhouse tomato farming business.



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