As I was washing and peeling the beets, I allowed myself to think back to simpler times. Sitting on Grandma's porch and snapping green beans, digging up potatoes with grandpa, and picking gladiolas from the garden. And while I despised the chickens that pecked at my hands, deep down I enjoyed collecting the eggs from the barn. The barns foundation was made from cut stone and the old beams rose high above my head. I always wanted to climb into the hay mound and swing from the rope, like my father always told me he did. However, my father also told me he would ring my neck if I tried. The chickens were in the bottom corner of the barn and they were protected by Big Red, the meanest rooster I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.
My dog barking brings me back to the job at hand. I parboiled my beets, because like grandma said they were the easiest to peel then, and while they cooled I washed the jars and began the brine. The smell of vinegar reminds me of my grandma. She canned just about everything you could imagine. The hours of scrubbing jars, boiling brine and storing the goods took up days and days of the summer and fall. Her dill pickles were the best and I still use that very recipe today.
Placing beets into a jar is like being a master of fine art. While some prefer their beets whole, I slice them and place them one-by-one trying to fit each in perfectly to avoid space. While I place the beets, I can here the baseball game and my mind wanders back to my grandfather. You could not sit in his chair, or eat his bag of peanuts. And when the baseball game was on the radio, you made yourself scarce so that he could enjoy it in peace. Grandpa smelled of chewing tobacco and sweat from a hard days work. And while I am sure he loved each of us dearly, I like to think that I was his favorite.
With the beets placed, and the hot brine poured over the top, I twist the caps on tightly and begin the hard boil. After about ten minutes, I take them out and realize that canned beets are the most beautiful vegetable to process. As I look at the jars they appear to be like red garnet treasures not only for the color, but the memories that were brought back to me. My grandma and grandpa were very dear to me and I am sure I would have made them proud with my education, career and success. As I hear the first lid pop into place on my beets, I realize what would have made them happy is to know that I am continuing on a tradition from a simpler time and will hopefully pass it on to my grandchildren.
