It happens every year, and every year, I am unprepared. 

The cold. It comes. 

It doesn’t come quite like clockwork, more like axial-tilt-work as the seasons change, but the temperatures always drop at some point. Our average first frost date in this area is October 16, and although this next week looks like it will dip pretty close, I still don’t think we’ll quite get down to 32 degrees yet. So even though the warmer weather has hung around mercifully late, I’m still not ready. 

I’m not ready for socks, for shoes, for actual pants. I live in my Chaco sandals, and I like it that way. As reliable as the weather change every year is my fatuous dissent from it. Though I often get cold easily, fall finds me waging my personal war against colder temperatures; “You can’t make me put on shoes!” I yell and shake my fist at the sky, shivering in my shorts. 

Spoiler alert: it is very ineffective. 

So as I sit here defeatedly yet comfortably ensconced in my slippers, leggings, and sweatshirt, I think of the garden. It’s outside obviously, in the dreary cold, so I’ll simply think about it from my cozy vantage point inside until I actually have to go out. There hasn’t been much left of our garden for a while now, not since the grasshoppers and army worms ravaged it, but now everyone else’s garden is starting to look sparse too. The last bits and bobs of everything are being harvested or even possibly abandoned to wage their own war against the weather after a long enough gardening season. 

Some gardeners bid farewell to their plants with lament, I’m sure, although more often than not I detect at least a hint of vindictive glee at the close of the warm months. I experience both sides of the emotions, varying in leaning and intensity with the years. 

I haven’t sobbed exactly when I’ve had to go out and gather up all remaining fruits the evening ahead of a frost, but it certainly isn’t my favorite activity; all those poor unripe tomatoes and peppers, only reaching their partial potential. 

At the same time, there is something undeniably satisfying about ripping out scraggly plants that did their job (or not), and are ready to call it quits right alongside you. The hours and hours spent in the garden were a valuable part of spring and summer, but now we’re done. 

It’s time to pick the fall green beans for the last time, time to dig those sweet potatoes, time to put some pumpkins on the porch or on the dinner table. We didn’t have any of the usual tomatoes and peppers to finish up this year, but fortunately, generous others did, so we have a bag of beautiful bell peppers that got left on our kitchen table. They will creep into our meals for the next couple weeks, reminding us of warmer weather while simultaneously fitting well into warming dinners.

Which is nice because my toes are still cold.

Unstuffed Pepper Casserole

I love the idea of stuffed peppers, but eating them turns into a bit of a mess (at least for us) and you eventually just cut them up into pieces anyway. Enter unstuffed peppers, which is not only easier to eat but also to make. It’s no longer a shame to turn on the oven, and just as the garden is yielding the last bits and bobs, so this recipe can work great to use up the leftovers from here and there. 

Prep tips: this is also easy to fix ahead to bake later, or to freeze for a quick winter meal. 

• 1 pound ground hamburger

• 1 large onion, diced

• 3 cups cooked brown rice

• 3 cups black beans, drained

• 2 cups tomato sauce or pureed fresh tomatoes

• ½ cup barbeque sauce

• salt, pepper, red pepper

• several bell peppers, any color, large diced

• ½ pound sharp cheddar cheese, shredded

Brown hamburger and onion in a large skillet or pot. Stir in rice, beans and sauces; adding salt, pepper and red pepper to taste. Transfer to a baking dish, then top with a full layer of diced peppers and the cheese. Bake uncovered at 375° for about half an hour, until the peppers are tender. 

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and two small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.