Despite my brown thumb and negligence, the garden's been good to us. We hastily threw down seeds and transplant tomatoes, but because they rooted down into the compost Jeremy spread, created here over three years of animal tending, they just took off. So, with my surplus tomatoes, I followed my sister's instructions:
Toss halved tomatoes with olive oil, a little sugar, salt, cracked pepper. Spread it on a baking sheet and roast at 275 degrees for about three hours.
When they finally came off the pan, I leaned against the counter and popped one crinkled little golden beauty in my mouth. It exploded with a little pop! and tasted exactly like summer concentrate- everything you remember best about childhood in summer: swimming pools, and sunburns, and watermelon, and fireflies. It tasted like the culmination of thirty years dreaming of something I could never name but finally understand.
It doesn't matter where you are and if your dirt is in a pot on the windowsill or acres out the back door: go grow something. Plant it, tend it, eat it. Then feel incredibly grateful that you can.