Old Clothes

                With the coming cooler days, I spent a few minutes yesterday shifting clothes around, putting summer shirts in the other closet or up on the shelf, bringing out the flannel and sweaters. The exercise confirmed my suspicions:  we have way more old clothes than new clothes.

                Part of the problem is our definition of too old to be worn: seriously torn in revealing places. If it still covers us, it is ok. Mark has several pairs of jeans that are somewhat worn in the crotch and thighs, but he saves them for hiking and painting. At least one of my shirts is thin under the arms, but I still love it.  Until the garment is too frayed to be put on in the morning (think, leg goes through hole) it sticks around on the shelf and is worn, at least on a muddy trail.

                Part of the problem is style. We are both fussy about fit. Not in the constantly changing way people who watch fashion are, but in a not too tight, not too loose, not too heavy or thin way. It is not easy to find clothes that fit right, especially when you are sturdy and five feet tall, not thin as a rail and almost six feet, like models. When I do, I hold onto them—for decades. And fashions change. Some years, t shirts are long and thin. Other years, they are hefty and boxy. It is hard to replace the perfect shirt.

                Part of the problem is how much we hate to shop. Malls are overwhelming. Trying on clothes is distressing. We are cheap—why pay so much for a shirt? We are far more likely to scan the racks at the local thrift shop than we are to enter a department store, which leads to already worn clothes with a shorter respectable shelf life.  When I find something that I like new, I buy two or three in different colors.

                All of this adds up to a pile of older t-shirts, jeans, and plaid flannel shirts. I divide my closet into “wear to school” and “home” but the balance is off and leads to moments around ten AM in the girl’s bathroom when I think “What am I wearing?!”  It can be a real challenge, some days, to look presentable and professional, even in a fairly casual environment.

                Goodwill does not want our old clothes. They are too old. The rag bag does not want our clothes. They are not old enough. We need to sort, to set aside some garments to wear out before we bring out others. But even so, we have more t-shirts than we can wear out in our lifetime unless we leave society behind for years.

Tomatoes on the March

Tomatoes are on the march in the Urban Homestead. It has been a very good year. I moved them into the back garden beds as part of a crop rotation, where they have always been very happy, in the garden beds or in big black tubs.  There are two beds of tomatoes: one for sauces and one for eating out of hand.

                I made a few changes to the varieties that I plant. I added Grandaro, a large paste tomato that I found in the Johnny’s catalog. It has been very prolific, which huge fruits that are resistant to blossom end rot, which has always been a plum tomato problem in my yard.  On their own, two plants are responsible for almost all of my sauce. I will be planting these again. I also planted two new sandwich varieties. A friend gave me some free oxheart seeds, so I planted them. They are truly the size of an ox heart, and ne plant put out over a dozen large, richly flavored fruits. They were excellent on a tomato sandwich. The other new variety was Tangerine, which put out round orange globes that were also yummy in salads with basil and olive oil. Add the usual varieties-- Sungold and Peacevine, Heinz  and Stupice, as well as the winter Longkeepers—and I had a perfect mix of color and size in the back yard.

                This year, I experimented with tomato sauce. For years, I have roasted most of my winter stores, slicing them in half and roasting in a hot oven until wilted. This year, I took out the crock pot for a little variety. I chopped the tomatoes into quarters, sloshed half a cup of water into the base, and turned it on to slowly cook down. Overnight, with no effort, I have a thick and chunky sauce. It piles up in the fridge until I have three or four quarts, then I can in into pint jars for winter soups and lasagna. I have roasted, sauced, and salsa-d enough tomatoes this year that I am seriously thinking on planting half as many, only for eating, next summer.