Please enjoy this recycled story from five-years ago. It is as pertinent today as it was then.
I'll return next week with a new, fresh story. Until then, continue the good fight and keep smiling!
Summers are simply great. That’s when much of
But it is also time for harvesting those vegetables your sainted wife planted back in late March.
Just about now there are zucchinis the size of telephone poles, hidden from view by the overgrown beds; weeds camouflaging yellow squash that are huddled together beneath the natural sunshade; and cucumbers that would make a person wealthy if they were worth 10¢ each.
Unfortunately, nearly everyone is in the same position – they all have tons of surplus veggies with no goal to use them all. Even neighbors politely refuse these excess foodstuffs. Alas.
So, it was today that my sainted wife began the great cucumber pickling of the season. Our motto is “waste nothing.”
Into the attic we climbed, searching for the necessary canning tools and accessories. All this critical stuff was in the attic where temperatures were hovering around a pleasant 173º Fahrenheit.
Out came the dusty giant jar grabbers, glass jars of various sizes, a magnetic lid lifter, a plastic poker to remove bubbles, and the king-sized pot.
After a thorough inventory, we realized we were in need of only a few items to can these cucumbers.
Dill weed, dill seeds, mustard seeds, pickling spice, more jars, lids, two gallons of vinegar, finely chopped garlic, a jar of “pickle crisp granules,” and salt.
Only $133.47 later, we were on our way to making cost-effective pickles to amaze and awe our friends and neighbors.
Our modest kitchen closely resembled a cross between meth lab and operating room. Knives, pliers, pullers, pushers, towels-a-plenty, boiling water and steaming white vinegar, lent to an air also filled with herbs and spices.
Smokey the Cat cowered near my recliner, trying – unsuccessfully – to decipher this chemical extravaganza.
Shakespeare’s three witches from Macbeth could almost be heard chanting, “Double, double, toil and trouble,” from the mist arising from the stove.
 |
| The great cucumber coup |
Using oversized pliers, my apron-clad sainted wife carefully plucked sterilized canning jars from a giant soup pot.
Neatly tucking cucumber spears into the jars, she added a brine concoction of our earlier supermarket coup.
As the jars were sealed, they were individually loaded into sectioned cardboard boxes, and then cautiously covered with tea towels to prevent drafts and prying eyes from ruining all the hard work.
Eventually, they stood in arrangement akin to a neatly dressed army of glass soldiers standing at attention.
All this was fine until I asked for a pickle to try.
My sainted wife snapped, “They’re not ready, and won’t be for another two-weeks. TWO WEEKS!”
To occupy my time, I broke out the calculator and ciphered the cost of making pickles from our free cucumbers.
The bottom line was $12.87, per pint. Not bad, considering I could have bought them in the market for $3.79.
Yeah!
