We weren't quite prepared for the snow to fall so early on Saturday. We weren't very far into our first cup of coffee or GMA when fat white flakes started falling from the sky. This sent us scrambling for the garden to save whatever produce we could.
Tomatoes, green and red alike, were plucked from their vines. Lemongrass was ripped out by the roots. Assorted hot peppers were snipped. All remaining cucumbers, yellow squash, and patty pans were rushed indoors.
While I prepped our bountiful harvest, David worked on saving those plants that weren't quite ready or benefit from the cooler weather. He blanketed the onions and leeks, covered the less hearty herbs in plastic and left the brussel spouts alone to use this cold snap as time develop big heads.
The fall harvest is always met with a sad contentment. Gone are the days of vine-ripe tomatoes and fresh chimichurri sauces. We clean, sort, process and store the fruits (and vegetables) of our labor, savoring one last taste of sweet young onions speckled with dirt, and begin to dream about what we will plant next year.