Storing Things Up

A last push toward fall

It’s a quarter to six as we pull out of the OxBow Park entrance. Leaving our late afternoon wander through the prairie and the woods, we remember that we need to stop at our downtown hardware store for canning lids. Ten minutes later, we pull into the vacant angled parking space in front of John Hall True Value Hardware Store. It closes at 6 and it’s 5:56 on our watches. Jim promptly gets out of the car but the store already looks dark. As he approaches the front entrance, Jeff, the owner, is at the door, recognizes and waves him in. “If it’s not too late, I need canning lids,” Jim says. “We were hoping we would make it in time!” Jeff and his wife, Linda, are smiling in the darkened store as they get him the lids from right behind the counter, ring him up and lock the door behind him.

As Jim gets in the car with the three packages of canning lids, we are also smiling. About feeling known by the owners of this anchor downtown store. About now having canning lids in our possession. 

It’s been a funny summer for canning. We started out the season thinking we would not get any canning done. Our schedules, especially on weekends when we normally do our canning, seemed particularly full. We took several trips away which ate up weekend time and Jim’ numerous band gigs often fell on the weekend as well. 

But, somehow, we’ve managed to make and can bread and butter pickles, tomato sauce, salsa and, tonight, it’s pickled jalapeños. Without planning to, we’ve squeezed in the work around our daily comings and goings. When I saw the pickling cucumbers at the market, I just bought them. My sister-in-law gave us excess tomatoes from her garden for the batch of sauce; our friend, Brad, offered us free tomato picking in his country garden for the batch of salsa. And when the jalapeños appeared at the market, I bought a half peck.

Is there a word for this? For squeezing the most out of every minute. For doing the work despite not planning to. For getting the job done without scheduling it in. I don’t think it’s folly. But maybe it’s close to what I see from the squirrels as I take Sadie on her walk at this time of year. It looks like a slightly frantic need to store things up for the coming fallow seasons, an instinct to complete tasks before the summer closes and autumn begins. A way to visually know that food safety exists, right there on the shelf. And ultimately a feeling of accomplishment and pride.

When the canned jars fill the shelf with their summer bounty, we know we can step back from some of the summer busyness. They tell us of cooler days, of slower work, of a time to sit and enjoy the fruits of our labor. As the leaves rustle dry and slowly start letting go, we will also begin thinking of hibernation and rest.