Smells of autumn.

My sisters and I would dance around in Grandma’s mud room, from where we’d step down into the cold, dark pantry lined with canning jars. We’d play house, act, play and pretend, all in the midst of the wonderful scent of the jars. Have you ever noticed how absolutely yummy a pantry of canning jars smells? Sweet and savory both. And then there was a big bucket of fresh dill ready for Grandma’s canned dill pickles. I’ll never forget that scent.

The memories this time of year.

My sisters and I would tie on Grandma’s apron, while one would wear Grandpa’s knee-high rubber boots, and the other would put on a garden hat. (Win this beautiful apron, here.)

Learning how to can.
My mother taught me.

Teaching others.
Sharing the love.

Canning with my kids.
Finally, they’re appreciating the art.

Canning with my sister.
I wouldn’t trade our time for anything.

Canning with a friend.
The canning in her mother’s kitchen.

Canning to me is more than ‘putting up’ the harvest into beautiful glass canning jars. It’s the art of learning how, and community. The act of sharing in the workload with others, as you work busily with your hands, side by side, sometimes standing in the same space for hours, doing the same thing over and over.

You wash, cook, peel, blanch, chop, … stuff the jars.

You’re hot and sweaty, steamy, dirty, hands parched from water and heat.

You talk, reminisce, laugh, cry.

You clean up.

Canning to me is an aspect of the art of community living; of being together.

Autumn reminds me of this art, year after year.


Do you have canning memories to share, and do they remind you of Autumn?

Want to take a peek at my cute little Grandma? And what’s on my list to can next? Pear Butter! This time I’m trying a new recipe!

Catch up on my first 28 Days, HERE. :)

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