In earlier posts I wrote about how I learned to can fruit and vegetables because my gram was a canning whirlwind come September. This was only one of her legacies that she passed to me from her grandmother, but it's one that I value greatly. I know my love of the harvest is mostly about my memories of her that come with the season--the rich smell of ripe tomatoes on the vine, the crunch of apples just out of reach, but dangling overhead and ready to pick, the even rows of carrots, lettuce, and onions--that's September, the month that Gram returns to me.
So out come her aprons and her tools that I store on the shelves high and at the back. Out come the recipes that I know by heart, but that must attend this ritual if it's to be complete.
And while I pick, then peel, then stir the bubbling pots in lazy eights--just the way she taught me, I thank Lillian for her gifts. Love. Family skills from another time. Patience which comes with any careful process, and memories of childhood harvests that often help me through the shifty and uncertain stream called adulthood.
What are your rituals or traditions? Where they handed down? Are you handing any down to your children? Do you write about them in your stories?