Growing up my family and I lived in a brick house on a paved country road just outside the city limits. We lived in the county seat with a population around 11,000. Small town, but not a village – quiet yet humming.
My dad always planted a garden in our backyard. Rows upon rows of seedlings lined up like little soldiers heading off to war. Green onions, peas, and lettuce were always the first to report for duty. Soon the ranks filled with green beans, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, and cucumbers standing at attention. Bringing up the rear were the heavyweights – the potatoes and pumpkins – taking their sweet time, but always making a grand entrance.
Once the produce made an appearance, it was all hands on deck. At the end of the day we would gather, either on the front porch or in the garage, with 5 gallon buckets shelling peas and snapping beans watching the fireflies pass by. By the way, I hated shelling peas. So much work for very little product. Plus I hated eating them. Worst vegetable ever! Our mom would make us eat them and we had to eat however many years old we were. I don’t care what you say – when you are 5 years old – 5 peas going down is tough!
After the prepping, Mom would get the canners out. She had a water bath canner and an old 2 door style canner. I don’t remember the brand, but it looked like a small fridge you put on the counter and then put the jars in to cook. All I know is that it made the house very hot! We did not have air conditioning growing up and we were from the era that one box fan was all you needed to cool an entire house. But, one by one, those mason jars would come out of the canners filled with preserved goodness to feed our family for the year.
Decades later, I decided to plant my own garden. Mom and Dad came over and helped me determine the size, what I was going to plant, and gave me lots of pointers. It was a manageable size that would produce enough for eating without worrying about canning. A tradition developed that once it was planted, the kids and I would stand and pray over it. After the divorce, I got bold. I had 3 kids to feed. The garden became larger and mom was put on the payroll for my canning needs. The deal was I helped prep ( ie., snap beans), she would do all the canning and then kept 10% of the jars as payment. That first year I had a bumper crop of beans and carrots! She enlisted help – so my daughter Allison stayed at grandma and grandpa’s house and peeled carrots. Then I brought her my last batch of green beans. They were fat and kind of tough. Mom told me I left them on the vine too long (it was my 4th picking) and she could not can them. BUT, she had an idea. We could shell the beans and she could can those in pint jars. I thought Lord Have Mercy she has gone mad!! I asked her what I was going to do with pints of beans. Well, duh, cornbread and beans or put them in soup. Because I am a people pleaser, dad and I sat at the kitchen table and harvested the beans and mom canned them….all 4 pints of them.
Fast forward a few years later and mom has passed. I take her water bath canner home and vow that I will follow in her footsteps and be that Produce Provider. The problem was I didn’t know how to do it. So I directed my attention to Google. I posted my query on Facebook. One of my dad’s cousins commented that you don’t water bath can green beans because it is not safe – they need to be pressure canned. I commented back that that is the way mom had always done it and we all survived. His last comment was “and I don’t play Russian Roulette”. Let me tell you that comment fired me up. How dare he imply that my mom was playing a deadly game with our lives when she was the Canning Queen. I dug deeper. I asked mom’s friends. Between two sources I DID find instructions on how to water bath can green beans and so I DID!! And, nobody died!
Of course, there was trial and error. My youngest son, Brady, was helping me put the lids and rings on the jars. I didn’t realize they should only be “fingertip tight”. The Hulk screwed those bad boys on showing those beans who was the boss. When you screw them on more than “fingertip tight” the jars can explode while processing. Yes…the canner looked like a mutiny had broken out – shards of glass and green beans drifting through the water. Trial and error!
I have progressed and perfected my canning strategies. I still have the water bath canner, but upgraded to a pressure canner so I have the ability to can even more wonderful goodies. Last year, I did green beans, carrots, chicken, pizza sauce, peppers, and diced tomatoes. Every time I put the lid on the canner I say a prayer, “please no broken jars, mom watch over my endeavor, and let me hear the ping”! Ahhhh, the icing on the cake, when you know you have achieved canning greatness is to hear that wonderful PING as those beautiful jars seal – pure joy! As I finished each canning adventure, I would post on Facebook my accomplishment. Maybe it seems trivial and bragging, but I worked my tushy off and I HAVE provided food for my family.
At a gathering last fall, a woman from our church came up to me and said that she saw all of my canning pictures on Facebook. My first thought was really – because you never hit that little LIKE button. Then she asked me if I was working. I explained I was on medical leave as I was recovering from back surgery. She said, “oh that makes sense now because there is no way you could can all of that and work”. WOW! I was offended! First of all, in previous years I DID can and work a full-time job so it is doable. Second, well, just rude. My husband was sitting there and the look on his face was oh shit how is this going to end. I just politely smiled and thought ‘bless your heart’.
So if you happen to hear a few loud bangs coming from my kitchen, don’t panic. It’s probably just another canning adventure testing my patience…and my vocabulary. But I will keep doing it anyway, because the memories are worth more than the mess, the critics don’t get a vote in my kitchen, and every sweet little ping is a reminder that some traditions are simply too good to let fade away.
Until next time,
-Molly