Just reflecting recently on all the years, when the kids were school age, that I canned everything in sight. I filled my freezer with fall harvest. I can still visualize the vibrantly colourful shelf in the laundry room made so as a result of the neatly lined up mason jars filled with peaches, pears, cherries, pickles, pickled beets, homemade salsa and spaghetti sauce. The freezer bulging with homemade apple pies, frozen blueberries, saskatoons, strawberries, rhubarb and raspberries. I blanched and froze corn-on-the-cob. We bought sides of beef from a friends brothers cattle farm and roasting chickens from the Hutterites. We were set for the long cold winter. I always found such satisfaction, purpose and joy preparing whole, healthy food for my family. Proverbs 31:14-15 still reverberates in my conscious. ‘She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family.”
I have fond memories of doing exactly that. Waking up while it was still night. 5:00 am. To get ready to go wait in line at Heritage Park with wagons and carts, to purchase fresh produce at rock bottom prices. We stopped first at Starbucks and then off to get a decent parking spot at the park. We laughed and joked and made designs in the air with our breath. The chill of fall nipping at our noses this early in the morning. When the gates of the park were finally opened wide, it was as if the people just fell in as a result of leaning on them. It was a mad rush for case lots of apples, peaches and corn and all other marvelous food fresh from the earth.
This harvest trip usually resulted in getting together with a friend the following weekend to spend a Saturday making salsa. I was always excited to have my house smell like an Italian restaurant (even though salsa is technically Mexican). We always made sure we had plenty of taco chips on hand so we could feast on the rich warm tomatoey substance before we filled all the jars. The aroma filled the kitchen and permeated my hair (as I found out in the shower). I could smell the salsa in the steam emanating from the water as it ran through my hair.
I felt like such a farm wife and I loved it. I had a very similar feeling yesterday when I decided to drive out to the Saskatoon farm to pick a few buckets of berries. The drive out was gorgeous. The rolling hills, ranch fences and fields of green and yellow lined with trees were layered in hazy tones of green and blue. It was going to be a hot one. I tried to arrive right on the dot of 9:00 when the farm opened its gates but wasn’t standing in front of my first Saskatoon bush until 10:30. The lady at the register informed me that I might have to go deeper into the orchard to find bushes still ripe with berries as these were the last days of the Saskatoon harvest. But I stopped at the first section of Saskatoons I saw and was amazed at how many awesome branches of berries had been overlooked by previous pickers and I set out to fill my first bucket. If it was too hot and buggy and sparse my goal was just one bucket. I found branches loaded with perfect purple and wine berries towards the middle of the bushes and low to the ground where they weren’t as obvious. I had a full bucket in no time and I was enjoying myself immensely.
As I listened to other mothers who brought their children along to pick I was reminded of the time I brought my own kids along to pick berries. They were not enthusiastic. It was the hottest day of the summer if I remember correctly and we were out at midday. There were bugs and it was hard work. All I heard was complaining. I think I finally has to bribe them to fill a bucket and I’m pretty sure that neither of them were even that fond of Saskatoon berries.
Yesterday I could hear one very patient and loving mom, on the other side of my aisle, instructing her toddler, Maria, on the perfect color of berry to pick and to get the ones close to the ground. All the while the mother kept saying to Maria ‘isn’t berry picking fun?’ and Maria agreed. Smart mom. Next time she says she is going berry picking Maria will probably cry if she doesn’t get to come. Soon after they left I heard another mom with a couple of little boys picking and talking to them. At one point the older brother wondered up to his mom and she asked where Jacob was and he said ‘Jacobs in the next row and he’s taken off his shorts and underwear’ and the mother set her pail down and ran to find Jacob and redress him. I was glad I hadn’t brought children along.
I filled my first bucket so quickly I decided to get another bucket for mom. It wasn’t really that quick but I was enjoying myself so….I did not realize the sun was burning a design on my back exactly the outline of my racerback tank top. The white portion of my white and black espadrilles was filthy as was I. But I just kept picking. The activity of picking berries made me feel like all was well with the world. I mean, I had time to pick berries. And clearly didn’t have any other crisis preventing me from doing so. I found it quite cathartic actually. It was reminiscent of the cotton plantations and the pickers singing to make the work go by. Not that I was there but I’ve seen a lot of movies. I know what they are referring to when they talk about back breaking work but no problem, I’m married to a back healer.
Once I had filled two buckets I tore myself away and proceeded to pay for my berries. At this point one is very possessive of ‘their’ berries. I was extremely grateful when the gal at the checkout tied a bag around each of my buckets easing my nervousness at spilling the lot.
Saskatoon berries are very near and dear to the hearts of my mom, myself and my siblings. The morning of my dad’s fatal heart attack he had been out on a walk around the reservoir and had picked a handful of Saskatoons to show mom they were ready for picking, with the intention of going back later that day to get enough for a pie. He returned home and showed mom the berries and that was his last act. As therapy, in the days following his memorial, we all ended up at the reservoir picking Saskatoons and making pies and reminiscing about our dear father. Saskatoons still remind me of dad.
Once home I washed the berries and sorted them to remove the shrivelled ones and pieces of sticks and branches, not to mention spiders. I measured them into bags and placed them in the freezer. I think I’m getting the bug again. Now I want to can peaches.
The Red Plaid Apron 