PatchWork
by
Joyce Whitis

Last Updated 09/06/05


Email: joy@our-town.com


Pressure Cooker And Summertime

            Is there anybody out there who still picks green beans, sits on the porch stringing and snapping and piling up a dishpan full, slams ‘em in a hot water bath, crams them in glass jars, screws on lids and sets ‘em in a pressure cooker on a hot stove????  Oh there probably is somebody who still cans green beans and maybe other stuff like squash, peaches and tomatoes, but I’m willing to bet not too many folks are willing to work that hard anymore.

            When I came through the backdoor, holding onto Mother’s old pressure cooker with one hand and carrying the top with the little pressure gauge in the other.  Tom said something to me that he’s said several hundred times in our lives together, “Joyce…..what in the Sam Hill is that thing and what are you fixin’ to do with it?”

            “Didn’t your mother ever can?”

            “Can? Can what?”

            “Everything that she could find in the way of food.  Why in the summer time my Mother just lived to pack stuff in glass jars and cook the contents under pressure.  Dad was always afraid she’d blow herself up like one of neighbors did.  I remember hearing about Eva Mae’s cooker lid blowing off because she built up the pressure till it busted the latches.  They said there was canned corn sticking all over the kitchen ceiling and Eva Mae was lucky that she didn’t get burned bad.”

            I set the cooker down on the kitchen cabinet and started to work on the dirt-dauber nests clinging to the wire rack inside and covering the pressure valve on the lid.  In spite of being nearly 70 years old, the thing looked to be in good, used shape.  Mother always did take good care of whatever she had and besides this old canning device was built to last, like stuff used to be. I had no intention of using the cooker, I just decided to take down to my booth at Hometown Antiques and see if anybody wanted to buy it.

            As I washed and dried the pressure cooker, mentally I traveled back 70 years to a time when just getting something to eat wasn’t nearly as easy as driving through a fast food place. 

During late spring and through the summer long rows of green beans, trailing vines heavy with green cucumbers, yellow squash, tomatoes, English peas, sweet corn,  tall plants loaded with okra were there for the picking, cooking and eating and canning.  In the fall there was pop corn, sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes and turnips.  Orchards always seemed to be loaded with cling and freestone peaches, and pears. Often there was a big dewberry patch. My mother canned everything we couldn’t eat at the time.

            There was always somebody shelling peas or cutting up peaches or slicing cucumbers. I loved those cucumbers soaking in brine getting’ ready for Mother’s quick hands.  I remember grabbing a pickle out of the big crock where it was floating in a salty, garlicky bath and running into the yard to swing and enjoy delicious bites.  Another favorite of mine was pickled peaches, each with a clove stuck in the side.  My sister, Audrey made those and when I visited at her house, she always gave me a jar to take home.

            Before the canning took place, a washtub was filled with warm water and I was handed a wash cloth and a cake of lye soap.  “Your little hand can get into the jar and do such a good job,” my mother told me often.  And I would beam under this great compliment and sit on the floor and scrub away.  Mother was tricky like that.  She made me feel like I had talents that were the envy of everybody.  “Here, Hon, will you thread this needle for me. Your eyes are so much sharper than mine.” After I had rushed to poke the slender thread through the needle’s eye, she’d say to Dad.  “Just look at that, Gene!  She did it the first try.”

            The hoard of food, preserved in glass jars, was stored in the cellar where it could enjoy a more moderate temperature than it could above ground.  Therefore when the spring storms drove us from the house to the protection of the cellar, somebody would always say, looking at the shelves packed to the ceiling with full jars, “Well, we’ll never starve to death, if the house blows away.”

            No, I doubt there is much canning going on today.  We’ve grown used to letting the Jolly Green Giant grow, shell, and can our peas.  Can openers are cheap and they last a long time. 


                              

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