Seasonal Shift


I transform 25 pounds of field tomatoes into a dozen beautiful jars of tomato soup and roast two trays of Black Krims and I am exhausted. Absolutely spent. Once upon a time I could easily can 50 pounds of tomatoes in one day and, aside from a sore back and feet, still have a measure of energy left. Those days are behind me.

At one point during the afternoon, Gerry comes into the kitchen and hands me a beautiful salmon our neighbour just gave him.

”Dinner!” he says.

”You’re joking,” I tell him.

I’m grateful for the remnants of a quinoa salad in the fridge because there’s no way I have energy to make anything for dinner, much less cook a beautiful fresh salmon. Tomorrow is another day.

When the last jars have been lifted from the pressure canner and are cooling on a kitchen towel, I feed the pups and we head down to the community garden to water and pick (still more) cucumbers. I eye the beets, and think about beet pickles that are up next on the canning roster. I’ll need a couple days of rest before I tackle them.

The mad canner has left the building. It’s a new season. I don’t need to can cucumber relish that nobody likes except me or watermelon rind pickles just to see what they’re like.

The freezer is my friend. Wash, blanch, flash freeze, and bag—or, in the case of my favourite roasted tomatoes, wash, chop, sprinkle, drizzle, slow roast, bag—is a whole lot easier.

To everything there is a season . . .

Thanks so much for stopping by. I'm here early most mornings with one of my photos and a few words about life and those thin places where faith intersects.

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