Gertrude hated the apocalypse. It was more than just ripping apart families, the zombie-like infected running around and attacking everything, and even the lack of her mail-ordered ingredients; there were too many people. Cabin fever. Wasn't that a movie? Besides that, she missed wandering around fish mongers and ethnic marketplaces and just buying food that looked and smelled fresh. Of course, she was eternally grateful for the combined efforts of Storm and Thorn, but they couldn't grow cheese and wine and bread. Staples!
At least the crops here were truly fresh. There was nothing better than plucking a tomato right off the vine and slicing it up for a sandwich within the hour. Most tomatoes were plucked green and stored in some ethylene gas - not good eats. She never tried watering or picking weeds out here, in the very rare case she saw them, but usually the Green Thumbs didn't mind her gathering what fruit and vegetables would appear in their meals.
With a wide-brimmed hat shielding her from the morning sun, Gert knelt next to a few tomato plants, her knees pressed into the dirt, gloved hands squeezing a vegetable, considering it, before plucking it and placing it in a basket lined with plaid cloth. Leaning back, she wiped a hand across her forehead, admiring the batch she was gathering. Tonight would be delicious. She wouldn't ruin the flavor of these with sauces or side-dishes; vegetarian would be the way to go.