I'm a freakin' tomato canning machine.
I mean, for real.
Yesterday, I picked up 75 pounds of tomatoes in the church parking lot.
Because only the Mormons would even have that many tomatoes to be had.
Today I spent hours in a hot, steamy kitchen trying to get the super ripe ones canned before they rotted.
Canning in Southeast Texas in June = the stupidest idea ever.
In the end, I smelled like body odor and tomato skins.
But, I also have 20 quarts of stewed tomatoes...and 3/4 of a box left that aren't ripe yet (because naturally, not all of them can be ready when I already have all 700 pieces of necessary kitchen equipment already out and ready).
At this point, I want to take the un-ripe ones and just throw them against the fence as I've had enough tomato-doing to last me a lifetime thank-you-very-much.
Carolyn is the guard de quart jars. Whenever I even so much as touch one she yells, "NO! That's food for the winter! And the winter's not here until Ola Mae comes outta your belly!"
Husband wants to know what I plan to do with all of these tomatoes and I'm all like,"Um...I don't know, but at least I'll have them."