A Day of Canning

My sister-in-law canning blueberries in a water bath

Sunday morning began early. Like 5 a.m. early.

Two kitchens on the Johnson Funny Farm were tackling a mission to prepare two foods each and swap some goods, like an old-fashioned cookie swap – – only different. We started with fruits ~ vegetables will come later.

Bethany’s blueberries

My sister-in-law and I both canned cinnamon spiced apples and she canned apple butter using apples we’d purchased at Jaemor Farms in Alto, Georgia on her birthday outing on Saturday after our stroll through Gibbs Gardens. She also canned blueberries. I canned peach marmalade using peaches also purchased at Jaemor Farms and also canned fig marmalade. I would have ordinarily used peaches from Gregg Farms, our local orchard two miles from our home, but over 90 percent of Georgia’s peach crop was lost this year due to weather, and Gregg’s lost every one of their peaches.

The figs, though, were grown forty feet from our house on a tree I planted in 2009, purchased for $3.00 on a clearance rack at Home Depot. We have loved on this tree for a decade and a half. Some years we’ve made fig preserves, but other years we’ve let the black swallowtails and monarchs feast on the fermenting figs without the threat of our picking. One year, a good friend came to pick some for a prized fig cake she was baking from the Barefoot Contessa cookbook, and she brought us one of her cakes as well. The memories of figs are alive and well from this tree and from the trees of my mother and grandmothers as we made strawberry figs together with my children for so many years.

And Jesus himself liked figs. (21st Chapter of Matthew)

Citrus puree for preservation of marmalade

So our day of canning started with peeling, slicing, chopping, blending, and dicing that led to boiling, stirring, simmering, scooping, sealing, cooling, and labeling.

We made a jar run to purchase some jars with sealing lids and rings, pectin, and other ingredients.
My sister-in-law Bethany’s apple butter

My peach marmalade
Fig marmalade


Canning was a great way to relax and fill our homes with the aromas of the love language of cooking, but I’m still trying my best to make the math work. I remained in the black on the figs I grew if I didn’t factor in the cost of the jars and lids (repeated jar uses would lessen that cost each time). With the cost of the peaches, I went into the red compared to what was on the shelf at Jaemor, already canned. Ounce for ounce, I paid more to do the canning – and I didn’t count the time or the electricity, or the extra air conditioning in the already hot kitchen. I would need to grow my own peaches or buy the bruised or overripe fruits and can them that day to make the cost analysis work compared to what I could buy already in jars canned by a professional who is far more skilled than I am. But I realize it is all about the fun and the preservation of foods for those winter storms when we need to hunker down and stay home by the fire and recall the warmth of summer fruits and memories in the kitchen to soothe our souls.

(I still think free-range chickens are the best investment for self-sustaining farm, if we could keep the hawks away).

If you have an amazing recipe for canning – or tips to keep it more affordable – please share in the comments below. I’d love some great instant pot and crock pot canning recipes. I don’t think I’m a good candidate for a pressure cooker. I might really do some damage with that.

Showing Up and Showing Out

Nature has a way of showing up and showing out.

For weeks, I’ve been watching and waiting for the figs to ripen, and almost overnight the first wave is ready for the picking. I saw the purple-brown fruits last evening and ran inside to fetch a plastic bowl and summoned my husband to bring his long arms and reach the branches down for me so that I could pick them. Together, we got what we could reach. It was too late to fire up the tractor, though. Usually, he raises me up in the bucket so that I can pick from the tip-top of the tree. That’ll happen after work today.

For now, we have our first bowl full, and they are plump and heavy.

But that’s not all that happened yesterday.

I finally caught a glimpse a bird I’ve been hoping to see for the past few years. Up until yesterday, I had only heard them. They live here on this farm, and I hear them in the wee hours of the morning, when it’s still dark. Ironically, I’d conceded our long game of hide and seek in yesterday morning’s post and declared them the winners. It’s as if one of these birds actually read my blog and decided to show a little mercy.

I was in the reading room that overlooks the butterfly garden. From the window that faces southward, I saw a stirring in the trees. A large stirring – – really an extra-large stirring.

Surely not, I thought.

It wasn’t dark. Just a couple of minutes before 8 p.m. on the nose.

It couldn’t be, I told myself.

I ran for my binoculars and searched the dense tree line for the bird, hoping it was still there when I returned.

I turned the knobs to focus and zoomed in as close as I could get.

Sure enough, just as I’d thought.

There it was, sitting on a pine branch, facing the house.

I could barely contain my excitement, yelling for my husband to come quickly, but not yelling loudly enough to scare off my buddy. I handed off my binoculars to him, and counted back the trees, pointed to the limb and actually used fractions to direct him 2/3 of the way up the Loblolly Pine to the Great Horned Owl grasping the branch with both feet.

We stood in awe, watching this great nocturnal bird of prey turn his head all around, watching the ground below for movement, like the embodiment of a Mary Oliver poem with wings.

It was fantastic to see. I still have shivers just thinking about the magnificent stature of this amazing creature and its commanding but camouflaged and silent presence.

After a few moments, he dove to the ground in pursuit of something he’d spotted, and just like that he vanished into the woods to feast on his catch.

And I’m burning with owl fever now, wishing desperately that he had a little camera attached to him like a policeman wears a bodycam, so I could have his night vision and see where all he goes and what he does. I’d have to hide my eyes when it came time for him to kill the bunnies and field mice and other critters, but I’d lose sleep for weeks just watching how he lives his days and nights.

Today was a treasure – ripe figs and Great Horned Owls. Life doesn’t get much more exciting.