GUS

A while back I buried my best friend and canine companion for the last fourteen years. You readers have heard about my buddy Gus, so many times. He died where he always lay--- at my feet. At fourteen his hips were gone and he struggled to breathe whenever he had to walk any distance at all. But in the end he died peacefully, knowing full well he had done his best to be my faithful pet. He will be truly missed.

Louis Sabin said and I quote. “A dog doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, big or small, young or old. He doesn’t care if your smart, not popular, not a good joke teller, not the best athlete, nor the best looking person. To your dog you are the greatest, the nicest human being that was ever born. You are his friend and protector.” Those words fit Gus to a tee. If I was going somewhere, he had to go with me even if it was just to the mailbox. He would sit in the car for hours watching the door of the building I went in. When I was taking the dock out Gus had to get in the water with me, no mater how cold it was, just to see what I was doing out there in my waders. He would get so excited when we went fishing and had to check out everything I landed. He would get those furrows in his brow when it was only some weeds. If I dug a hole he had to dig with me, and at night Gus took up his place on the floor next to my bed. When my wife passed away, he relentlessly searched the house for her for days. When he couldn’t find her, he abandoned his place in the bedroom and slept where be could watch the back door. Sadly waiting for her to come home. How do you explain such loyalty? Heaven is supposed to be such a happy place and I guess mere mortals can’t really say for sure what is waiting for us there. I’ll be very surprised if there are no dogs.

A good friend, who is also a dog lover, sent me this poem when she heard about Gus’s death.

“So this is where we part my friend, and you’ll run on around the bend.

Gone from sight, but not from mind, new pleasure there you’ll surely find.

I will go on, I’ll find the strength. Life measures quality not its length.

One long embrace before we leave, share one last look before I grieve.

There are others that much is true. But they be they and they aren’t you.

And I impartial, or so I thought, will remember all you’ve taught.

Your place I’ll hold, you will be missed. The fur I stroked, the nose I kissed.

And as you journey to your final rest, take this with you. I loved you best.

                                                                                                Jon Willis

HOME CANNING

                                                        

 With summer slowly winding down, there are signs of fall appearing. One of those signs is the canning kettle coming up from the basement to sit in the corner of the kitchen once more. For many of us, this is a time-honored tradition once used to preserve the harvest from the garden. In my hometown there was a cannery that bustled with business for many years, but it’s no longer there.  Canning, once a necessity, is now more of a habit from a fast disappearing way of life. Each ping of a sealing lid on a jar brings a quick smile to your face and some satisfaction for a job well done.

If we were concerned with the economics of this process, we would stop tomorrow. But if were worried about money, those thousand-dollar fishing trips for three fillets would be out too, wouldn’t they? No, it’s not about the money; it’s about taste and old family recipes you can’t buy in any store. It’s the secret ingredient in the pasta dishes that give it that special zing instead of that watery, tasteless tomato sauce from the store. It’s jelly or jam that tastes like the fruit it was made from, and not some bland, generic, sugary paste. It’s jelly you can’t even buy—like homemade chokecherry. It’s warm rhubarb sauce—long after the snow has come and buried the patch. It’s vegetables that don’t taste like the can they came out of.

Today’s fast-paced life for many women doesn’t give them time to even cook, let alone can or freeze fruits and vegetables. But there are some—my wife was included—that just take the time because it’s that important to them. Oh, I have heard the arguments many times against home preparation. How can you be sure it is safe, they say. I think your chances of getting sick are much higher from that salad you bought at the local deli, than from home-canned fruits and vegetables. I’ve been eating them for over sixty years with no bad effects. I once spent a night in the biffy from eating bad food from a fast food restaurant.

Despite my views and my love for home canned vegetables, I know that home canning will not exist much longer and it has nothing to do with safety or economics. Like so many things from a way of life we grew up in, it’s not being done widely anymore because our values have changed when it comes to our eating habits. The skills are not being passed on from mother to daughter, and in many cases are already lost. My daughters learned to cook from their mother, but my granddaughters don’t have a clue. They think carrots come from the jewelry store and a hot dish is one right out of the dishwasher that somebody else turned on, because their not sure how to. They have a stack of coupons stuck to the refrigerator door of every fast food place in town. Well, at least they are trying to save a buck, are they not?

Both my friend Harry and I lost our wives in the last year or so-- so this year it’s up to us. Come Friday morning, the canning kettles and the jars are coming out and these two old white-haired duffers are going to be canning tomatoes. I, for one, am looking forward to it.---Ping, ping, ping.