I've got these new beans growing, said my pal Sandra. Wax beans. I picked some the other day. It's been so dry and I know they need watering. Then I thought, why? After the pole beans and bush beans and Roma beans, all of which I put up. Why do I need to water these beans?

Do I need to bend over to pick them, trim the ends and cook them? Maybe it's enough already. Maybe it's time to let them go.

Exactly, I agreed. These are not children, just a few remaining vegetables. It's time to take just what you want. Say goodbye. Let them go.

My garden is in the process of letting me go, it seems. I'm fine with that, mostly. We started at radishes, peas and lettuce. We're down to a small patch of lettuce, some beans, a spindly squash, peppers and a few tomatoes, mostly green.

I spent days in the kitchen attending to the vegetables: Making sauce, freezing beans, canning tomatoes, simmering jam. I've got jars of pickles, dill-scented tomato juice, Roma tomatoes with basil, dilly beans, several different combos of plum-nectarine jam, a freezer full of corn soup, pitted sour cherries, stewed corn and squash, green and yellow beans, tomato sauce.

I don't fear the cooler months. A power failure, I fear.

The reason I spoke with Sandra was to tell her not to bother to drive over because I didn't have enough Roma tomatoes. I'd promised her a peck and there's less than half of that.

We'd agreed if I had three-quarters of a peck, she'd come get them. In return, she promised livers from her free-range chickens and a piece of schmaltz (chicken fat) to cook them in.

Don't think I'm not a little sad when I look at the garden. Where something delicious once grew, there is empty space. Where sunflowers ranged in wild oranges, deep maroons and yellows, there are faded stalks and dry flowers, the seeds pecked out by hungry goldfinches.

Dry weather halted any late crops I attempted, the Russian kale, beets, carrots and spinach. When the rain finally came, it was too little and way late.

In a few weeks, we'll pull out the remaining plants. Tomatoes that are sound with no nicks or soft spots will be cushioned with newspaper, packed in bushel baskets, stored in the cool basement. Most will ripen and they'll taste better than any supermarket tomato. The turnips I'll leave until Thanksgiving nears.

We planted a rye grass cover crop in the top two beds. Called green manure, it grows into a lush, full mass, supplying nutrients to the soil. The dry weather slowed it way down. It's sparse, like hairs on a balding man.

The hardneck, red-skinned garlic we harvested needs to be replanted in mid-October. We'll break apart the heads and plant the cloves root end down. They'll be mulched over with grass clippings and hay to protect from bitter cold, the row marked by bamboo poles.

Next year, each clove will magically become a garlic head, and all the lovely stuff that goes with that -- garlic greens, garlic scapes.

Writing about my garden this season has been a privilege and a joy. Thanks to the people who have read my column and tried the recipes. Thanks to those who took time to tell me so.

The other night at neighbor Frank's house, a small group gathered. Frank made wonderful pizza, piled high with colorful hot and sweet peppers, baked in his wood-fired, outdoor beehive oven.

We talked about gardens. Frank still has plenty of peppers. His wife loves the chard that keeps growing and is never bitter. My neighbor Wendy had been digging sweet potatoes and plucking late salad greens, protected under row cover. We ate plum cake and toasted the season with a Colorado red from BookCliff Vineyards, where her son Sam works.

In my head is a list of things I'll do differently next year but mental lists are easily lost. Right now, I'm waiting for the leaves to change. Making a last batch of tomato soup and frying up some green tomatoes.

PG TESTED

This is loosely based on the oft-requested plum kuchen from The New York Times. It's also based on memories of pflaumenkuchen (plum cake) eaten often on my first trip to Germany and Austria. It's the end of prune-plum season so what better way to toast summer and welcome fall than with this easy cake.

• 1 3/4 pounds (16 to 18) firm-ripe large or medium prune-plums
• 2 cups all-purpose flour, spooned into cup and leveled
• 11/2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/2 teaspoon almond extract
• 3 large eggs, at room temperature
• For the topping
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar mixed with 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1/4 cup slivered almonds, optional

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour 15-by-10-inch jelly roll pan.

Halve and pit plums. Cut each piece in half lengthwise.

In medium bowl, stir together flour, baking powder, and salt.

With electric mixer on medium speed, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy.

Beat in extracts. Scrape sides. Beat in eggs one at a time. Scrape sides.

On low speed, mix in flour. Finish blending by hand; don't overmix.

Dollop batter into prepared pan. Spread evenly but quickly with offset metal spatula.

Arrange plum quarters with a cut side down on batter, making even crosswise rows. Plums should be close but not touching.

Sprinkle with topping. If desired, sprinkle with almonds.

Bake 30 to 40 minutes, until cake is browned, has just started to shrink from sides and a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.

Transfer to wire rack. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Makes 8 to 10 servings.

-- Miriam Rubin

PG TESTED

• 4 large or 5 medium green tomatoes, about 2 pounds, cored, cut in 1/4-inch slices, ends discarded
• 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt mixed with 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
• 1 cup yellow cornmeal
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 large egg
• 1/3 cup buttermilk
• About 1/2 cup canola oil for frying

Sprinkle tomatoes with salt and pepper mixture. In pie plate, mix cornmeal and flour; season lightly with additional salt and pepper. In another pie plate or shallow bowl, beat egg and buttermilk.

One at a time, dip tomato slices into egg, letting excess drip off. Coat with cornmeal mixture, pressing so it adheres. Place coated tomatoes on waxed-paper-lined baking sheet.

In 1 or 2 large cast-iron or heavy skillets over medium heat, heat 1/8-inch oil. Add single layer of tomatoes. Fry 3 to 5 minutes per side, turning with tongs (so oil doesn't splash), until tomatoes are browned and feel tender when pierced with fork. Drain on paper towels. Keep warm in low oven. Continue with remaining slices, adding oil as needed. Serve right away.

Makes 4 to 6 side-dish servings.

-- Miriam Rubin