The Season Has Arrived

The first cucumbers of the 2009 are in the jar and the season has begun, one of my favorite times of the year. And this isn't a new development either.

When I was growing up my Uncle Milo had a "truck farm" on the Buffalo River near Glyndon, Minnesota. This fertile land produced muskmelons, tomatoes, beets, cucumbers, potatoes - all sold to area grocers for fresh produce. He always seemed to have a bountiful crop, carefully tended to by migrant workers.

Before the last of his crop was hauled to town, my mother and aunt Vi would start the canning operation, occasionally assisted by my aunt Mae or neighbor Darlene. I don't ever recall being assign any duties, other than probably "scram." These were all day affairs with Vi coming to town hunching honest to goodness bushel baskets heaped with produce.

First would be the beet pickles, then the cucumbers (dills, million dollar, oil of cinnamon and turmeric pickles, oh I almost forgot the relish!!) My father would remind mom to make those dills hot, with a few red peppers tossed in for him. Then they made stewed tomatoes, froze melon balls and canned peaches. These gals strung out this work through August, and sometimes I remember they were horribly hot days, but there was work to be done! The day usually ended with a remake of the day's labors and buttered bread for supper.

Fast forward to the farm bride and her new garden. I too learned the fine of art of "putting up the fruits of my labor." For thirty five years I have canned and created with a true love of the season propelling me on. Even now, as a return to the city girl, I still have a garden and I still can, only not in such magnitude as before.

Over the years I have carried out the same recipes as my mother, with some added from my mother-in-law, Lillian. She (Lillian) and I were connoisseurs of frozen corn, which to this day is the only way I can tolerate corn. Her sister Eveline and husband Ross would grow unbelievable huge sweet corn which we cut off the cob, cooked with butter and salt and then freeze in every container available. We could never grow corn where we lived because of the "coon" (Karlie called me a racist once for mentioning the coons). We lived along the river and a veritable army of raccoons would march on over to annihilate even the smallest of patches, so we always relied on Ross and Eveline's fabulous corn.

So as the season continues I savor the smells of vinegar and dill, gleaming jars in my big canner, sweet cooked apples, beets, tomatoes bubbling on the stove - it just doesn't get any better!