Around this time of year, my freezer begins to look like something out of Stranger Things. The door groans under the weight of the salmon spines, marrow bones, pork jowls, and chicken organs; the light flickers feebly behind stacks of blood-red tomato sauce and ghostly parmesan rinds. One wrong move amidst the heaps of unidentifiable vegetables could very well send you into the Upside Down.
Every harvest morning finds me pleading with the aging appliance, begging its weary, overstuffed contents to accept just one more head of cauliflower from the garden, just one more batch of roasted cherry tomatoes before the first frost arrives in earnest.
It looks like you’re out of free articles.
Become a member of The Writer to read this full article.
Already a member? Sign in
Monthly Membership
$3.99/month (billed monthly)
- Unlimited access to the The Writer website
- Quarterly livestreams and more
Annual Memberships
Starting at $4.99/month (billed annually)
- Unlimited access to the The Writer website
- Print and digital subscriptions of The Writer magazine
- Free contest entries and more
