Tomatoes: when you grow a bunch, you should can them. I know this. I’ve done it once–an eight-hour day yielded four quarts (or was it five?) of peeled, seeded, diced Roma tomatoes. So if I was getting paid minimum wage for that work, each quart cost my employer at least $14. Eek.
This year I only planted two tomato plants. Both were heirloom varieties started from seed. I’d never grown heirloom before. I’d never started tomato seeds before. One plant withered, and the other pushed out about a dozen grape-sized tomatoes that split. Rather unlovely, and not even very tasty. All my other tomato plants were volunteers–sprouting like weeds (and with weeds) from last year’s rotten fallen tomatoes left to overwinter in (and out) of the raised beds.
From these eager volunteers, I gathered a large bowlful of Romas several weeks ago with the intention of canning them, or at least eating them. Then I left for a long weekend and a wonderful women’s conference. Then I got busy with… well… with life. The firstfruits ended up in the compost pile.
Second attempt: this past week, I gathered another, larger bowl of Romas.
I washed them.
Blanched them.
Skinned them.
And deseeded them.
Then I ran out of time.
I covered the bowl in plastic wrap and threw it in the fridge. (Yes, yes, I know the fridge is deathrow for tomato flavor, but I couldn’t have tomatoes growing mold sitting out on my counter for hours… or days.)
The skinned, seeded tomatoes languished in the fridge even though I knew canning wouldn’t take as much time this year as last because 1.) my new dishwasher could sanitaize the jars, 2.) new gas range would heat water faster, 3.) new water softener would eliminate nasty mineral deposits on everything, which may or may not really save time, but would certainly save frustration and general ickiness, and 4.) I’ve done this once before, and a former boss taught me that doing something a second time usually takes half the time.
The skinned, seeded tomatoes are still languishing in the fridge.
Why can’t I can them? Life got in the way: a few exercise classes, a day helping my in-laws with a crazy barn-moving project, an evening playing cards with my sister and her husband, a morning romping with the sister’s new puppy (and his needle-teeth), nearly a full day of meal-planning and grocery shopping with my husband, a Sunday church service, a few hours at the shooting range (and shooting, for the very first time, a super-cool and slightly-scary-until-you-try-it black powder pistol), and lastly, writing this blog. I suppose I could have cut down the time spent with the needle-toothed puppy, but really, the tomatoes are fine still in the fridge.
I can’t can time with my sister or boil an exercise class to save it for later. The hours pass, and with them opportunities. Even if the tomatoes mold in the fridge and the plants outside drop their rotten fruit before I pick it, I can buy Red Gold diced tomatoes for the rest of my life. I can’t get exercise, in-laws, sister time, husband time, God time, or even nipping puppies in a can. Some things you can can, but the better things you can’t can. Eat them now while they’re still fresh.
Unperfect Garden 