672.5 pints. This year, between what I've grown, gleaned and grocered, I've put up 672.5 pints of food. Some of it is frozen, some of it is dried. Some of it is in quarts, others in gallons. But all toto, in apples to apples terms, it's 672.5 pints of veggies, fruits, leathers, dairy, etc. Not too shabby for one season's work. I'm still holding out hope for some late pears from my step-dad's rental, but even if that doesn't come to pass, it's been a good season. Blessedly, very little has spoiled on me; maybe 3-4 jars. So if we manage it well, we should have a bounty of fresh goods available to us until next season. Not too shabby, eh?
I've noticed lately that Isaac likes to go into our utility room where I store all of our goods and just look around. What's funny is that I remember doing that same thing when I was a little girl. I'd walk into my grandma's summer kitchen and just look at all the bright, sparkly jars of food lining the shelves and be content knowing we'd eat well during the winter. I think sadly that's an era that's coming to an end. Although there has been a resurgence in food preservation lately, I don't think it will ever be in the same numbers as a century ago. Perhaps the prices of food, recalls, and even unavailability of produce will push folks to rediscover this lost art.
I've noticed lately that Isaac likes to go into our utility room where I store all of our goods and just look around. What's funny is that I remember doing that same thing when I was a little girl. I'd walk into my grandma's summer kitchen and just look at all the bright, sparkly jars of food lining the shelves and be content knowing we'd eat well during the winter. I think sadly that's an era that's coming to an end. Although there has been a resurgence in food preservation lately, I don't think it will ever be in the same numbers as a century ago. Perhaps the prices of food, recalls, and even unavailability of produce will push folks to rediscover this lost art.
And it IS an art. To those unwilling to try gardening or canning, it's simply jars on a shelf. To the romantics among us, who long for a by-gone era, it's a display of hard work, ingenuity, sacrifice and above all, security. It's the brilliant reds of early spring strawberries. Deep earthy green of summer's snap beans. Fall's luscious yellow cling peaches with their tawny centers. All the colors of nature, preserved in my grandma's canning jars, handed down to me a decade ago. Those hundreds of jars evoke stirring emotions; pride, contentment, and again, security. I've never walked into a museum and felt such a connection with a work of art, as I do walking into my own pantry and seeing the fruit of my labor. This is one woman who will never be called a starving artist. That much I know is true.
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