My father passed away in 2003 leaving my mother to live alone, for the most part, for the next eight years. Over those years, my brother, John, checked in on her every day, and my sister, Shari, chatted with her every morning and every afternoon. My brothers, Tom and Dewey, and I had specific days and times to visit with my mother. My time turned out to be Saturday morning. Up until her death in the fall of 2011 I was a regular on Saturday.
Mother, who was legally blind for most of those years, sat quietly with her eyes closed as we made conversation. A cornea transplant years before had finally yielded up its usefulness leaving her with what she referred to as “her good eye.” When talking, if she wanted to make a point, she would open her “good eye.” But that eventually became a struggle. One morning, as we talked, I noticed her good eye remained open. I also noticed her eyebrow looked disturbed. Upon close inspection I found she had “taped” her eyelid open with a small Band-aid, attaching the other end to her eyebrow.
“What have you done to your eye?” I asked.
“If it works, it works!” she smiled, winking as best she could.
I especially enjoyed the summers spent in her presence. When the garden came in, we collaborated in the art of canning. She patiently offered advice as I served as the worker bee. We were quite a team. Her loss of sight intensified her sense of taste. She was an excellent “taster.”
“Not enough salt,” she would advise.
“You’re missing something,” she would respond.
Sometimes she would smack her lips, smile, and say, “Just right!”
One day while we were in the middle of canning a mountain of tomatoes, I turned to her and said, “Mother you are a great consultant! You know, consultants get paid big bucks!”
“Well,” she said. “I may be a great consultant, but so far, I haven’t seen any big bucks!” She smiled and I saw a tiny sparkle in her good eye.
So, summer is here, and I am canning again. I still use all the canning equipment we used on those Saturdays that are slowly slipping into the past. I still catch myself doing things the way she would have advised. I’m a good taster, too. I sometimes wonder if I cooked enough foam off the tomato juice before I transferred it to the jars, and if I left enough juice in the top of the green tomato pickle.
Speaking of green tomato pickle, hers was an old recipe handed down for generations. I know a few other experts who have the recipe. Call it chowchow or pickle relish and she would bristle.
“It’s green tomato pickle!” she would declare.
And her green bean canning technique called for vinegar, sugar, and salt.
“They will “keep” better and longer if you add the vinegar,” she would say.
So far, my labors this canning season have yielded 40 quarts of Roma green beans, 28 quarts of tomato juice, and 17 pints of green tomato pickle. And I’m not quite done.
I cooked a mess of green beans last week. They came from a jar dated 7-10. My mother helped me can those beans. Best I ever tasted.
Copyright 2023 by Jack McCall
