After so much heat and sogginess, we suddenly have the kiss of fall. On such days a vegetable farmer's mind turns to thoughts of harvest. I spent much of yesterday cutting, washing, and freezing chard; collecting tomatoes for today's sauce; cleaning and storing cured garlic and shallots. I made fresh cucumber and shallot pickles; I fried eggplant and okra; I composed a giant Caprese platter of tomatoes, mozzarella, and purple and green basil.

We listened to three different baseball games on the radio (the boy doesn't know the meaning of baseball overkill); went for a walk in the Falmouth Audubon preserve; played some Yahtzee and Scrabble (the boy beat me by 100 points). The boy made hamburger buns and Tom grilled hamburgers.

Meanwhile, in the air I smelled other people's breakfasts, and other people's laundry, and other people's cars. This made me sad, and homesick for my land, in a way I've mostly been able to shunt aside for the past year.

I don't live there anymore.