I had big plans for tonight.
I wanted to write a love letter.
A love letter to Oregon.
I wanted to say something about the glistening fruits dropping off trees and bushes everywhere I go.
Persimmons, anyone? Walnuts, apples, grapes, blackberries? Don't leave home without a canvas bag.
I wanted to say something about the ocean in one direction, sending up billowing clouds every evening that turn pink and fluffy by the time they get to the Willamette Valley...
And towering Cascades in the opposite direction, those emerald peaks punctuated by startling, sky-high, snow-white volcanoes.
The time I saw a ruby red crawdad in the crystal clear black and green water of a mountain creek and thought it was a toy, until it shook its claw at me.
The ginormous, swirling, tornado mobs of swifts that sleep in the chimney of the local university for a few days only, every fall and spring.
The steam-punk accordion players at the Farmer's Market playing a Calliope version of Bad Romance.
Oregon is some good juju, y'all. I moved here two years ago, and I'm totally in love.
But I don't have time for a love letter. Maybe you should just come and visit.
Meanwhile, let's talk about tomatoes! I didn't grow these, unfortunately, although I do have some purple ones out there that please me enormously.
Unusually colored fruits and veggies still do that for me.
What do you do with your late summer, early fall 'maters? (Where I grew up they were called 'maters). Tarts? Soups? Preserves? Salsas?
All of the above are acceptable.