In A Jam? I’ve Got A Pickle!

I haven’t done much writing lately, not because I’ve been uninspired but because I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of canning and preserving food. My Grandma and my Mom were big canners and I have so many memories of helping my Mom grind cucumbers in the cast iron grinder while we would make her famous relish.

Things have changed as technology has advanced to a food processor, and I no longer have to spend hours turning the handle and collecting the cucumber juice from the bucket on the kitchen floor. I relished those times – no pun intended. They were just such good wholesome moments for my Mom and I, just the two of us in the kitchen working away. Other family members would occasionally stroll through to see what we were up to but most of the time, it was just her and I. I remember once we played a joke on my Dad and gave him a glass of cucumber juice and told him it was green Kool Aid. He got halfway through it before he realized we were full of shit.

After Mom passed away in 1994, I’ve continued the tradition. I did for many reasons, I think. One, because I felt it was somehow my family duty or responsibility to carry on some of these traditions to create a sense of normalcy for my family, especially my Dad even though she was gone. Eating a hamburger with the same kind of relish you did as a kid brings a sense of peace to the soul, and helps ease the hurt and the pain a little. It’s hard to explain but instances of nostalgia are important to recognize and celebrate, especially when you’ve lost someone so dear to you.

I don’t know if it makes a difference to my family when they visit if they have “homemade jam” on their toast, but I like to think it does. When my brother’s boys were little, they would ask for some toast with “special jam” and that always made my heart swell just a little. I like to think through me, those in my family, especially those who never had the chance to meet their Grandma, get a little taste of what she was like and the love she was full of and shared so willingly. If I can help carry on that tradition, then I’m more than happy to do it.

Second, canning and preserving is fun. Call me a nerd or whatever you want (I’m looking at you Sista) but turning a cucumber into a pickle or a berry into jam is one of the most satisfying things ever. Same with baking bread. Now spread some of that jam onto your homemade bread and you never have to live another minute. Seriously, it is just heaven right here on earth.

This past week I made “Mom’s Bread and Butter Pickles”, and as I made them, I was filled with an equal sense of joy and sadness. Joy because making pickles, or anything really, makes me happy. Sadness, because I can’t help but think of those past times in the kitchen with Mom. I always have a few tears; it can’t be helped. Chopping sixteen onions also isn’t helpful. One way or the other, I end up crying, but I truly believe that a few salty tears just enhances the flavour of the pickles.

The problem with me canning is that once I start, I cannot stop. Like seriously, it’s a problem. While the cucumbers were soaking in the brine, I was knee deep in my canning books figuring out what I was going to do next. Peaches are just starting to come into season here, so I think I’m going with some peach jam and canned peach slices that I can eat over cottage cheese or yogurt. Pears will be on the docket about mid-September.

Of course, I’ll be on the lookout for 25 kg cases of plum tomatoes because let’s be honest, I’ve always wanted to try making my own ketchup and barbeque sauce, and now is as good a time as any. My garden is spitting out tomatoes like crazy but I’m saving those for some tomato sauce and perhaps even a little salsa.

And this is what I mean about living a creative life. I don’t have to be writing to be doing something creative. I consider my pickles and the raspberry jam I already made to be works of art. I love, love, love the look of the jars, and I actually don’t care if I ever end up eating it all (I won’t). I love how they display on my custom canning pantry shelf that I built. People come over, see it, and shake their heads. “You’re crazy,” they say as they snitch a jar of dill pickles and tuck it under their arms, thinking I won’t notice when I clearly have everything in a colour-coded pattern. They are the fools, not me! I also have a fairly stocked upright freezer but that could be the subject of an entirely different post.

When the Covid quarantine hit, my oldest brother called me, with great concern (sarcasm) in his voice I might add, asking if I had enough food to get by. Ha. Ha. Ha. As the lock down went into the second month and food shortages hit, he called again and said he and my sister-in-law were thinking of moving in. What can I say? I like to be prepared! Bring on the zombie apocalypse, I’m ready.

I sat down this morning to finally start writing this post and immediately starting Googling recipes. I saw a recipe for a zucchini ravioli on my friend’s Facebook page a few days ago, so I had to go back and find it because the pile of zucchinis I’ve harvested from my garden is stacking up. So of course, once I start looking, I get sidetracked, and now I’ve printed off ten more recipes from tomato sauce to homemade bagels and everything in between. Yes, I already have recipes for all those foods but when you’re down the rabbit hole, anything and everything goes!

The bonus about canning and making food from scratch is that I know exactly what is going into my body, and I think this is important. I’m not a spring chicken anymore, so anything I can do to help ward off the aches and pains of aging and to keep myself as healthy and vibrant as I can be, I’m going to do. It’s a lifestyle change really, and I’ve found as I’ve incorporated more wholesome and “from-scratch” foods into my diet, I’ve been feeling much better both physically and mentally. I can’t tell you for sure that it’s from the food, but I can’t tell you it’s not either, so I’m rolling with it.

The things we put into our bodies and bring into our lives have a direct effect on our well being. Whether it’s food brimming with additives or people that scream negativity. They all are toxic and need to go! It’s that simple really, life is so short and so precious not to. And that’s what my mission has been lately – to get back to the simplicity of life. I’ve gotten away from it the past few years for many reasons and the added complications and stresses have been overwhelming.

The finished product! Twenty-nine jars!

I’m done with “busyness”. I’m done with doing things that I don’t really want to do because I’m too afraid of offending someone if I say no. I like the quiet. I like spending a Saturday morning getting lost in the rabbit hole of my choosing. I’ve worked hard in my life and I feel like I’ve deserved that right. And so have you. Life doesn’t always have to be about other people; it can be about you. In fact, you should be the most important person in your life because if you’re not, then you’ll always be judging yourself through the bias of everyone else’s eyes, and trust me when I say that the majority of those people need some serious glasses.

So, what does all of this have to do with pickles and peach jam? On the surface, absolutely nothing, but at the core it’s about breaking things down and living the life you want to live. I like to make pickles, maybe you like to do crossword puzzles. The details of it don’t matter one bit, it’s the doing things that make you happy that does. I know we’re all busy and have long lists of “Things to Do”, especially those of you who still have young children at home. I know things are hectic. Here’s my suggestion. Include them when you can. If you like to bake, include them, let them do a stir or two, or pat the bottom of the kneaded yeast dough to see if it’s “soft as a baby’s bum” yet (Thank Joyce, my mama for that little ditty).

I’m sure it would have been easier for my Mom to have just shooed me away so she could get her kitchen work done quicker but she didn’t. I don’t ever remember a single time. Time is the most precious gift for us to give and one of the most precious gifts she ever gave me. When I was five years old, I had no way of knowing that she’d be gone almost seven months to the day after my twenty-fourth birthday, neither did she. Looking back on it now, the time she gave me then was worth more gold than you could stack on a plate in front of me.

Making those memories with her are what mattered to me the most. Do what you must to make the memories. Trust me, they will last forever – just like a well sealed jar of homemade pickles. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take my banana bread out of the oven…

Cheers!