I wanted to take just a moment this Sunday to thank all of you for reading and growing along with us at Rural Sprout. What started as one person’s quest to find good, quality information on gardening and becoming more self-sufficient has slowly blossomed into a community of loyal readers, growers, cooks, and builders. 

 

 

The other day I was trying to remember the first time I canned something on my own. I grew up in a family where preserving vegetables, jams, pickles and even soup and sauce was just a normal part of every summer.

 

My love of cooking and comforting those I love with food has grown out of a childhood of building memories in the kitchens of the family that I love. 

 

I remember making jam one summer up on the sunny hill of my paternal grandmother’s home. I had discovered wild strawberries in the field beyond her backdoor, so she sent me out with an empty rainbow sherbet tub and had me pick as many as I could find.

 

I picked until my fingertips were stained red. 

 

 

And it was always pickles at dad’s house. Countless jars of dill pickles. Always with a clove or two of garlic and a flowering head of dill at the bottom.

 

We would snack on pickle spears while playing cards in the dead of winter and argue over who got the pickled garlic clove. I remember sucking the juice from brine-soaked dill, not wanting a drop of that flavor to go to waste. 

 

 

That’s what sent me down memory lane. It got me thinking back to my first experience with shiny clean jars and a giant water bath canner heating up the kitchen—no grandparent looking over my shoulder to guide me.

 

My first time canning on my own was a bushel of beautiful Pennsylvania peaches.

 

 

In the end, I had around 24 quarts of rosy, gold peaches on my kitchen table, every inch of my counter was sticky, and if I had to blanch and peel another peach, I was going to cry.

 

Still, I sat in my steamy kitchen enjoying the audible “pink” of the lids sealing in the delicious taste of summer in Pennsylvania. 

 

 

These days, I’ve paired down my penchant for stuff, so I no longer own a huge canner. I get along quite well with my favorite stockpot and a kitchen towel at the bottom.

 

And this time of year, it rarely leaves the stovetop. Jam, chutney, and pickles are filling my pantry shelves, as the shelf where I put my empty jars throughout the year grows bare.