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Poem

The harvest comes in with the ending
Of summer heat and fresh green things
That fill my heart with laughter and joy
~
The garden grows wild and willowy with
Fresh produce - green beans, corn, tomatoes
All succulent and tempting me to start canning
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The Ball jars sit waiting for me to prepare them
Press them full of plump red tomatoes or crisp
Snapped beans that make food feel a delicacy
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There are pickling salts, vinegar and sugars
All waiting to be used in their various ways
Within the boiled jars and underneath lids
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The jars are hot and reach boiling underneath
The water bath that keeps them processing
So that every bacteria that might be is deceased
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Through the fall, I find myself reaching for jars
Filling them with fresh vegetables and salts
Canning each run with an expectant heart, a hope
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These very next jars will be the ones that I know
Will all seal the best, with labels pressed atop
To tell me when I canned them and if I want them
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Canning is a deed my Granny caused me to express
With rims filled to capacity with a sense of blessing
And assurance that tightening a lid was a part of love
~
As the jars are taken out and given away or eaten
To this day, I don’t have the how, when or why of it
But I know that it means I’ve given a part of my heart

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