|Onions in the food processor, for pizza sauce. (Note the clean kitchen.|
It's the last time you're going to see a tomato-less surface for the rest of this post)
So in summary, Cuffy (the kindly housekeeper) has left to take care of her sister-with-a-broken-leg, widower Father is on some vague business trip (he frequently is), and that leaves the four children at home, the oldest of whom is fourteen. You heard that right, fourteen! It's August and the garden is, of course, overflowing. Mona (the 14 year old) is completely enchanted with cooking and proposes that she and Randy (the 12 year old) can the produce-
""We eat tomatoes for every meal except breakfast now," Randy said. "And the cucumbers are just getting boring." "Maybe we could sell them," offered Oliver helpfully. "Nix, small fry. In a rural community like this it would be coals to Newcastle." "Canning is the answer," Mona said. "Oh, if only Cuffy were here!""
"A moment later she looked up, striking the table with her mixing spoon. "We'll do it ourselves! We'll surprise Cuffy." "O-o-oh, no!" said Rush. "And have us all dead with bottling bacillus or whatever it is. No, thank you." "Botulinus bacillus," corrected Mona. "Oh, Rush, don't be so stuffy. I'll get a book about it and do everything just the way it says. I'll only can safe things like the tomatoes and I'll make pickles of the cucumbers."
"Mona slept an uneasy sleep that night, and her dreams were long dull dreams about tomatoes. She rose early the next morning, got breakfast with Randy, and studied her canning book. By the time the boys and Willy began bringing the vegetables, she knew it almost by heart. She and Rand were enthusiastic about the first bushel-basketful of tomatoes, it seemed a treasure trove: an abundance of sleek vermilion fruit, still beaded with dew. The second bushel also looked very pretty, the third a little less so, and by the time the fourth one arrived she stared at it with an emotion of horror. "There can't be that many, Rush!" "You asked for it, pal. There's the living evidence. And in twenty four hours, there'll be this much over again." …."The kitchen was swamped with vegetables."
"It was a long, hot, clumsy business. Mona dropped sterilized lids on the floor, and they had to be sterilized all over again; Randy cut herself with the paring knife; Mona half-scalded her fingers getting the first jar into the boiler. Randy skidded and fell on a slippery tomato skin which had somehow landed on the kitchen floor. They lost two jars of tomatoes from the first batch when they were taking them out of the boiler. The first was dropped by Mona when she thoughtlessly took hold of it with her bare hands. The second exploded like a bomb, all by itself. "I guess there was something the matter with it," said Randy brilliantly.
"Her [Mona's] face was scarlet with exertion. Her hair was tied up in a dish towel, and her apron was covered with tomato stains. Randy looked worse if anything. There were tomato seeds in her hair and an orange smear across one cheek. She was wearing nothing but a faded old playsuit and an apron. "Gee whiz," she said. "You know how I feel? I feel like an old, old woman about forty years old, with fallen arches."
I hear ya', Randy, I hear ya'.
Still, later…"They look sort of nice. The tomatoes, I mean, not your arches. Look, Ran." They were nice. Sixteen sealed jars of scarlet fruit, upside down on the kitchen table.