Editor's note: The following column originally appeared in the Aug. 11, 1989, Daily Globe.
WORTHINGTON -- Perhaps it is because I have never done much home canning that I feel such strong appreciation for the art. In fact these past few years have found me selling all the fruit jars we have ever owned as I do no canning at all.
As I have mentioned before, every one of us is creative in some way and you home canners have an art all your own. How beautiful and colorful those jars can be when they are all washed off and labels applied.
In my small family of three girls we were all five years apart. Being the youngest, there were times when it was like being an only child. As I recall, my mother only canned a few foods. Mother would open kettle a few tomatoes or peaches or pears. Mother, who was diabetic, eventually did not can at all. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.
Going back to the first fall after our marriage, my husband took me to visit his Grandmother and Grandfather Edes. On a warm, sunny, fall Sunday we sat down to a delicious farm meal that was untraditional with my side of the family. A huge loaf of homemade bread with quaint jars of jam were on the table. Then came all the garden products, like potatoes, corn, tomatoes, green peppers, peas etc. Accompanying the potatoes was no doubt roast beef and gravy. Even the desserts were from their farm. Strawberries, or maybe canned ground cherries. Now listen folks, this girl had never even heard the term "ground cherries." Later in the fall at Thanksgiving time they would even their own high-bush cranberries on the table.
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Grandmother Edes was sweet and wise, as well as hard working. No doubt she had been observing all my silly antics during the meal. She probably knew that this sweet young thing didn't even know how to boil water. As the meal ended, Jennie looked at me and said, "Would you care to see my fruit cellar?" Fresh out of college and only a few months of marriage behind me, fruit cellars were not on this girl's list of priorities. Very cautiously and politely I came up with a "yes" for an answer.
The scene began to unfold as we made our way down the wooden plank steps and reached for the long strings attached to the bare light bulbs. Past the wash area and the coal bin we came to a mysterious wooden door. A large wooden handmade latch held the door in place. Jennie opened the latch and we went into the 12 feet by 12 feet square room. She pulled on the dirty, long, knotted string. As the light went on, my eyes bugged out and my voice dropped while gawking at what I saw.
The entire room was full of shelves up to the ceiling with her art. Her wonderful, wonderful canned goods. Her work, her pride, her art! Even a young city girl, whose own mother did little canning, could realize the enormous amount of work here. It was an art gallery. It truly was! The pride in this woman's eyes was her reward for the hard work. The light in her eyes was her "happy heart" feeling.
Hoping our relatives will forgive me if I miss some facts or special items, but it has been some time now, you know. Meat, like beef, pork and chicken, in jars was unheard of to me. Every type of garden vegetable was in clean, shiny jars, smiling at me. When the last of the vegetables were in the garden, she combined them all into a wonderful soup and, you bet, it was canned! I could handle peaches and pears, but soup. Wow!
After looking at the colorful jars of fruit, from gooseberries to apricots, we turned to the shelves of pickled products. Pickled cucumbers in every size and shape and color. Pickled everything!
Apples, tomato relish, corn relish, catsup, watermelon, pigs feet and son on. My word, how could anyone own so many fruit jars? Where did she get all the vinegar? This boggled my mind!
That trip, many years ago, was so thrilling that I have no trouble remembering it. I fell in love with Grandma Edes that day. If only her time left on earth would have been a little longer I could have learned a great deal from her.
Nancy Kaercher Zuehlke is a Worthington resident.
