The Ones Taken Too Soon

By Elisabeth Fondell

We’ve all seen them: the light green tomatoes, the miniature bell peppers stuck in their transition from darkest green, the yellowish gray of stagnant vegetables, the off-color hued produce that didn’t survive the frost. There is sorrow in seeing something gone before its prime, like a prize taken too soon.

The hard frost came earlier than usual that year, surprising even the most knowledgeable growers. Cover it with a sheet or blanket at night, they said. That will keep your plants growing a few weeks longer until the hard frost comes. But even the flannel fitted sheet I found to swaddle my darling plants was an insufficient shield.

As soon as I went outside, I knew. The damage was clear immediately. Hard frost, thick and white, sprinkled the still-green grass, and the air was heavy with cold.

Even the best gardeners and vegetable farmers were thwarted. A friend told me he lost a van of cauliflowers to the hard frost, after finding them frozen to the core by morning.

A neighbor brought a bag full of cabbages, tomatoes, and peppers hoping I’d find a use for them in their final stage. I did what I could with the dying produce, attempting to nurse it back to health in brown paper bags and warm spots on the counter. But it was no use. The speckled tomatoes turned soft and mealy, graying as they went. The peppers turned to mush at the bottom of the vegetable drawer. And the cabbage became sauerkraut, but only just barely, the slug holes dominated many of the good leaves.

There is a specific kind of sadness found in seeing the plants we nurtured for many months leave us like this. But this is what we do. We grow tomatoes and herbs and peppers knowing the risks in our northern climate. On the border line of Zone 4a and Zone 4b, the season is short, the timing is fickle, and our options are limited. But we are hearty and determined. We will persevere.