Canning

Have I mentioned that I love canning? I do. I really, really do.

When I'm in the middle of it and have been standing at the stove for my third hour, my hair is all frizzy around my face from the steam and I look around at the mess I'm going to have to clean up once this is all over, I don't know - I just smile inside. It's a little bizarre, isn't it? I'm sure, back in the day, people were thrilled when they were finally able to buy ready-made preserves from the grocery store after having had to "put them up" themselves for so many years, but not me. After having bought ready-made for so many years, I LOVE the idea of making them myself. Everything tastes better when you make it yourself. It just does.

So today, in response to the 100-mile challenge that I'll be starting on Friday, I spent the day in a big steam-bath of a kitchen, making local tomato sauce. I'm not going to lie to you - I kept pulling spoons out of the drawer to sneak a taste as it was cooking. OH YUM! It was delicious.

But now that it's all done and the jars are all filled and lined up on the counter waiting to go to the cellar, I look at the mess left behind and see, not the mounds of pots and canning supplies all over the place, but a product of my own hard work and the enjoyment of my day. Too often we can simply crack open a can without a thought to where it came from. Not today. I spoke with the farmer who I bought the tomatoes from and I know the ones who sold me the onions. Each jar is a labour that I remember and a memory that I loved.

Backwards from this progressive world that is so quickly moving forward to every convenience? Perhaps. But I can live with that.