Front Porch: Home canning’s delicious results worth the effort

The first time I can remember ever eating homemade preserves of any sort was when I was in ninth grade and my friend’s Czechoslovakian grandmother served us some sort of relish that she had made. I recall thinking how old-fashioned and old-worldly it was that someone would go to the trouble to do such a thing, even though it was darned good.

Ah youth.

Coming from an urban environment, canning wasn’t in my tradition, what with all manner of grocery stores nearby that were nicely stocked year round. But then I grew up and married a man descended from a long line of Midwestern farmers and was taken under the wing of my mother-in-law, who canned or froze everything she could. She remembered the Depression quite well, thank you, and nothing was ever wasted – plus you always wanted to ensure you had enough to get you through the winter.

So there in her kitchen in Alaska as a young bride, I learned to make rose hip jam. We picked the rose hips, but first I had to learn what a rose hip was. And then we made bread and butter pickles. It seemed like an awful lot of work, but it was something nice to do with her and something she enjoyed teaching me. And then, of course, some months later, I opened the first jar of pickles. Ah, the taste!

And so the city girl became a home canner. When my in-laws retired to Spokane, my father-in-law put in a big garden in Spokane Valley. He did all the work and we reaped all the benefits. We froze peas, corn and beans. I canned whatever fruit I could get my hands on – usually whatever was free wherever I could find it – and made every kind of jam I could think of, including rhubarb (which grows profusely in my backyard).

I learned to make pickled beans – the most laborious task of all, as I find it mandatory that the beans stand up straight and uniform and tall in their jars, rather than floating around haphazardly as do the smaller and easier-to-prepare pieces. I hold to the notion that presentation is almost as important as taste, so I put in endless hours holding every bean up against my measure bean and cutting for exact size. Laborious, tedious, mind numbing – but ultimately delicious. And pretty to look at, too.

When my sister-in-law moved to a small cherry orchard in Wenatchee, my access to those delicious fruits rose considerably, and I canned my brains out. Her neighbors even gave me some of their unwanted apples. Hello, applesauce.

Time has passed and alas, I now have to pay for most of the fruit I get, though I do hunt around for good prices wherever I am. I’ve found a place locally where I get the apples I like for applesauce. I still favor the Wenatchee area for cherries, but I’m an equal opportunity shopper.

I’ve finished this year’s plums and pickled beans. In July, I found a great new (to me at least) variety of cherries near Orondo – Lapins. A cross between the Van and Stella cherry, these guys are dark red, sweet, firm of texture and huge (some are one inch across and almost seemed the size of crab apples). They canned up beautifully.

I don’t put up all the things I did when our sons were still home, but I do make enough so we have sufficient supplies to “get through the winter” and to give as gifts to friends. My son in Seattle will often ask when we come over if we’ll bring him some pickled beans and jam or whatever his taste buds seem to be longing for.

I’m not claiming that my preserves are superior to anyone else’s. They’re from pretty standard recipes, but I do think many of these homemade products (mine and others) are better than store-bought. Higher fruit content. Denser and more flavorful applesauce. Nothing overprocessed.

I’m in pause mode right now. Fingers no longer purple from plums and cherries. The cuts and one blister from beaning are healed. I’m just waiting for the apple harvest to come in. Applesauce is my biggest project, as it’s my personal favorite, so I’ll be cutting, cooking, grinding and water-bathing for days on end next month. And then it’s time to enjoy the harvest – all of it.

This may not have been the tradition I grew up with, but it is one I have happily adopted as my own. I am already anticipating one chilly day this fall, taking down that first jar of big fat cherries and eating some with my husband.

I never knew that a little bit of summer could fit so nicely in a jar.