Note: I invited Leah to write the text to accompany today's photographs. --Kurt
It’s the beginning of the end of summer and the conclusion of my “preserving season”. I will stow away the reliable old canning pot. I will no longer sit in fear, awaiting the imminent explosion of the pressure canner as it steams and jiggles away. The two-gallon stone crock is done with its work – the pickles are captured in jars on the shelf. After a few more apples meet their fate, the dehydrator will also go into its storage for the winter.
Pickles, sweet and dill: check. Jams of several varieties: check. Tomatoes, quarts and quarts of tomatoes: check and double-check. I think I’m done. The hard work of the weekends is behind me. No more hours spent over bubbling pots of jam about to go into the hot jars sitting upended on the kitchen counter. The shelves are now groaning with those beautiful jars which so radiantly reflect the wealth of the garden and the toil of the cook.
I should be celebrating. I should be busy planning easy, feet-up-on-the-couch activities that will carry me through the fall and winter. I should rest. But for one whose instincts are those of the hunter/gatherer, there is always an inner voice that says, “Put more food by. Stock up. Save the harvest for when its needed.” I’m not sure if I’m part squirrel or channeling some 19th Century farmer’s wife.
So I’ll stop for awhile and take it easy; but at the same time, I’ll be wondering how long it will be before I can pick those beets I just planted in my winter garden. Mmm, pickled beets!
