A Greenhouse in Late September and the Harvest That Saved My Husband

green scent that smelled of summer even as the year turned. We had forty plants in this row alone, each one tied with thick jute twine to the overhead wires.

“We should start with the Cherokee Purples,” I said.

“They have the thinnest skins,” Arthur said. “They will bruise if we leave them past noon.”

He moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm that had continue reading …