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

looked this small.

The heavy, sweet scent of the tomato vines hung thick in the warm air.

“The high-tunnels need to be cleared before the first frost, Martha,” he said, staring at the green rows.

“We have plenty of time for the clearing,” I said, trying to sound light.

“Maybe we should call Dr. Higgins,” I added, tucking the dishcloth into my apron.

“Just continue reading …