This afternoon I stood looking at a basket full of cherry tomatoes and wondered what on earth I was going to do with all of them. They were red and gold and piled on top of one another, with a few little stems still attached. I had only just picked them, and already there were more waiting in the garden.

I decided to put some outside by the mailbox for anyone passing by. I made a small sign and arranged the tomatoes as nicely as I could, and I liked the thought of somebody carrying a handful home for supper. A garden can be greedy in August, but it also makes one feel generous. There is simply too much of everything to keep it all for yourself.

I saved a bowl for us and made roasted cherry tomato and whipped ricotta toasts. The tomatoes went into the oven with olive oil, garlic and thyme. Before long, their skins had wrinkled and split, and the kitchen smelled so good that I kept opening the oven before it was time. The ricotta needed only lemon and salt. I whipped it until it was smooth, toasted a few pieces of bread, and spooned the warm tomatoes over everything, including all the juices from the pan.

It was such a simple lunch, but it looked rather beautiful on the plate. The ricotta was cool beneath the tomatoes, the bread was crisp at the edges, and the red and golden tomatoes looked as though I had gathered up the last bright bits of summer and put them on toast. I added basil and the tiniest bit of honey. Then I sat down and ate while the rest of the basket waited by the door.

I think August is often like this. For weeks you watch and wait for something to grow, and then suddenly it all arrives at once. You cannot save every tomato or keep every warm afternoon, but you can make something good with what is in front of you, and perhaps leave a little of it by the mailbox for somebody else.