It was 20 degrees this morning. About time, too: This has been a weirdly warm fall, with temperatures in the low 50s as recently as the past weekend. Not that I like shivering when I get up, mind you, but it seems appropriate to the season.
Yet while putting the yard to bed today DF harvested the last of the green and red leaf lettuce. Planted right next to the house, it escaped the freeze. We ate some of the leaves on our suppertime hamburgers.
“The last of the outdoor harvest,” he noted. “Eating lettuce from the yard on October 16…Most years you think you’re lucky to be eating it on September 16.”
As I said: weirdly warm. Yet I felt a pang even as I snapped the crisp lettuce ribs between my teeth. Delicious – and the last. We’ll be blessed if we eat fresh salad again in June.







