As I sit in my kitchen today, listening to the summer breeze rustling through the leaves outside my window, I recall the memories of fifty years ago... I can almost smell the pungent aroma of vinegar and spices from the pickling crocks under the back stairs at grandma's old farm house. Memory stirs and I am reminded of far removed apple trees south of the hay barn, and the tangled blackberry brambles racing up the hillside.
We kids would sit on the old back porch with grandma and peel, and pare, and pit until our hands were stained with a rainbow of pinks, yellows, greens and reds from a bountiful harvest. All through those crisp fall days of long ago, the canners bubbled and hissed on the stove, churning out jar after jar of jar of garden produce.It was a lot of work, but eating grandma's peach cobbler on a cold and blustery winter day made it all worth while. Well that's my blast from the past... do you all have similar stories from years gone by?
