Clang! Clang! Pop pop! Sluuuuurp whistle! The sounds came from the pan on top of the stove. Wisps of steam lifted and disappeared into the air. My granddaughter came through the door. “I love to hear that sound.” She walked over to the stove and peered into the pan. “Making muscadine jelly?”
It’s funny how smells or sounds trigger deep buried memories. Mama and my grandmother canned produce from the garden. Tomatoes, beans, jellies and jams, soup mix, pickles from cucumbers, peaches and beets, and even meat were canned for the winter months or for a quick meal for unexpected company. When I was a kid, canning day started with a trip to the garden or a visit to one of the local farmers or roadside stands. Sometimes we sat on the porch and rocked while snapping beans or shelling peas. Mama filled her apron with beans and had them snapped and cleaned in no time at all. My hands didn’t work quite as fast. I didn’t mind shelling butter peas, but butter beans made my thumbs sore.
My process for canning hasn’t changed much from when I was a kid. That scene still plays in my mind. Jars turned upside down in a pan of shallow water made a slurpy whistle sound as water sucked up in the jars and they jangled, clanked and clanged. Once the jars were filled with produce, some were placed in a hot water bath. Others had to go in the pressure canner. With the lid was secure, the petcock was set on the valve. Pressure was regulated by a gauge or the number of jiggles. Pssssst, psssssst, hissss, spit, spit, sputter, pssssssssst. The timer started. When the jars were removed from the canner, the popping noises started as the jars sealed. That sound made me smile.
Those sounds bring back many memories, not just of canning but of family, home, satisfaction and contentment. That’s what I want to instill in my grandchildren.
