Naturally I attributed my proximity to my earlier howl of misfortune. Rant or critique being immaterial as there was no expectation of accomplishing anything, rather the commentary was like the Bat Signal over Gotham City – Justice being more important than revenge.

I walk in it, I fish in it (I scratch my chins after fishing because of it), and you are an unknowing consumer of it. Much of the Northern snowmelt feeds it, trucks haul it, and chemicals kiss it to juicy perfection.

… and on rare occasion the rear half of the semi stutter-steps into the turn just a bit fast, and the life giving snowmelt is returned to its prior form after a bit of sunlight and decay.

Which can smell like … well … Justice.

Naturally being a tremendous fan of both physics and dumpster diving, I opted to cut my fishing trip short and assist the Department of Transportation in clearing this dreadful mishap.

… with a shovel and a waiting pickup bed.

These are the Roma variety, commercial grown to be a dense fruit with a thick skin to aid harvest and transport.  Boil until the skin starts cracking, then shock under cold water to loosen the skin. Peel. Toss five pounds in a bag to freeze so they soften further when unfrozen, and then chopped or blended to make crushed tomatoes for spaghetti sauce. Toss in some extra parsley, basil, chopped onions, and a few bay leaves and refreeze as “Italian seasoned.”

Just remember my hammy feet when your spouse says, “We’re having Italian tonight, Sweetums …” A gift from my watershed to your suddenly sensitive colon.