I picked the last three, cracked tomatoes.
Brought them down to the kitchen to join a couple of small Brandywines that had been ripening indoors, and the ever-present Mexican Heirlooms.
Sliced'em. Salted and peppered and oiled 'em.
Smothered 'em in Vermont burrata, with a lashing of terrace basil.
I never did get tired of the tomatoes. I miss them already.