Sometimes when we hike, I try to think of new ways to describe what we're seeing. For example, how do you paint a picture in words of quaking aspen leaves that fits but isn't cliche?

Aspen leaves are like the coins on a belly dancer's belt? Uh, no.

The vellum sound of aspen leaves, trembling? Better.

Shimmy shimmy shake shake? You see where I'm going.

But how would you describe the taste of a tomato? A good one?

OK? Ready, set, go!

Diener heirloom tomato

At last!

Look at that fat, bulbous globe, ruddy as a drunk. And grown at 8,000 feet. By rights at this elevation it should be a stunted yellow ball.

The tomato comes from Meredith, who's been haying at the ranch. Meredith is the mother of 29 alpacas, seven goats, five chickens and four dogs. She has animals, we have grass, so this week she's been busy raking and hauling hay back to her growing herd. (A couple of the girls got themselves in the family way when "Mother" wasn't looking.)

Enroute to the ranch she stops at a neighbor's organic garden, who opens it to friends to have their pick. She's loaded us up with tender red-leaf lettuce, peppery arugala, miniature cucumbers and porky tomatoes--all tasting like earth, water and sun.

Now if we could only get our recalcitrant green fruits to ripen at home.