Canning

Tomorrow I am going to introduce my dear, life-long friend to the mystery and alchemy of canning. Just like the 'scientists' of yore who labored over bubbling pots and boiling beakers, I like to think of canning as a mystical art form. The perfect beauty and bounty of summertime being distilled and preserved forever (or at least a year or two) - making it possible to taste June in January, sunshine in snowstorms, green growth in grey skies.

I am (don't tell!) actually pretty new to canning. I put my first pears and peaches into jars just a few years ago - busily humming away late into the night, paring knife flashing, canner steaming on the stovetop. I was hooked from the first 'pop' of a sealed jar. My mom canned some when I was a kid, as did her mother before her.  I have vague but comfortable memories of it. I like to think that this, like so many other things I do, is a return to something important from my heritage - something I have grown up enough to now be proud of.

Last summer my daughter would sneak upstairs and sit on the counter next to me as I worked. It was late, and she should have been in bed, but I couldn't help but feel, deep in my bones, that it was more important for her to be putting in the memories of canning as I put the peaches in the jars than it was for her to get enough sleep - at least for that night. So, we canned together. I washed the fruit, blanched it, and squished the skins off, the sink turning a murky pink color. I let her halve the peaches and remove the pits. We both had juice dribbling down our chins and off our elbows, nightgowns smudged and damp. It was well past midnight before the last jar sealed and we went to bed. I don't remember what we said, but I know it was good. Surrounded by fresh fruit and jars and history and heritage as we were - how could it not have been wonderful?

I know we're staring off small - just a few pints of homemade salsa - but I hope my friend gets hooked on canning, just like I did. Not only because I want someone I can share recipes with and trade produce with and ask to borrow a jar lifer or a canning funnel from once in a while, but because I want the people I love to get the very best from life. And, I can't imagine anything better than that late night with my daughter, the satisfaction of a cupboard full of gleaming jars, and knowing that you have been a part of something important from the past, and are making it possible for that something important to continue in the future.

Besides - it means I'll get to spend a whole afternoon in the kitchen with my dear, life-long friend and six children, watching our progress wide-eyed and eagerly, and grinning in delight when they hear the jars seal. What could be better than that?