They’re staring at me. Precarious piles of overripe red fruits oozing rivulets of juice across the counter, pooling at the edge until they reach a critical mass and the river becomes a waterfall, plummeting over the edge onto the kitchen floor.
It’s hot. Damn hot. And instead of lounging in the shade of a tree, I’m still in this damn kitchen, sweating over the steam bath of large canning pots. … Read More