The lid on the jar is stuck, and I don’t even mind.
It seems appropriate that I should have to work for it.
A fine bottle of wine doesn’t have a screw top. You’ve got to take your time to get that cork out without getting any of it in the bottle.
The lid on this jar of green beans from my grandparents’ garden had gotten a little rusty with time. I had to really work to get it opened.
It was well worth the effort.
I could go the rest of my life without eating the green beans that you find on the shelves of a grocery store. I wouldn’t miss them at all, but the beans inside the Mason jars in our pantry are priceless to me.
It’s not just the great taste that make these jars of beans so valuable.
They were canned by my late grandmother Sue Richardson, and once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.
I guess that’s why we’re still hanging on to these last jars. They are a tangible connection to her.
Serving excellent meals was one of Granny’s many ways of showing us that she loved us. Granny wasn’t just a good cook, she was an artist in the kitchen. She would have considered that an exaggeration, but it’s true. Even simple dishes were something special.
She was also determined to make sure everyone enjoyed their meal. It seemed like she never sat down to enjoy her own meal because she was always up pouring refills of tea or getting dessert ready. These days we don’t even have dessert 90 percent of the time. At Granny’s house you knew you better save room.
I haven’t been able to reproduce most of the things Granny cooked, but I have learned how to grow fresh vegetables like my grandparents did for so many years.
After eating fresh tomatoes from their garden, I can’t imagine a world where the tomatoes on the shelves of the grocery stores are the best available. I can’t see going without fresh okra, squash. peppers and eggplants in the summer.
I know how to grow turnip greens, but I still haven’t figured out how to make them like Granny. She used to bring me a Cool Whip container full of greens with some aluminum foil-wrapped cornbread on top. I’d eat it as a meal and savor every bite.
I remember when my grandparents used to go pick a truckload of corn, and we’d spend the day working on it. Grandaddy, my brother and I would shuck the corn and brush the silk away. My grandmother would cut the corn from the cob and prepare it for the freezer. My mother and my aunt often helped.
My uncle Walter Richardson Jr. has actually carried on the traditions more than anyone. He makes jellies that taste just as good as those Granny made. If none of us learn from him, those skills may be lost forever to our family.
My brother Eric had the foresight to get Granny to teach him how to make her fantastic chile sauce. If he hadn’t done that, the recipe might be gone with the wind.
But Granny wasn’t very good at sharing recipes because she didn’t follow anything written down in a book. She learned from years of experience, and probably worked extra hard at perfecting her skills because she loved seeing her family happy when they gathered at her table.
That’s probably why so many people are fond of their grandmother’s cooking, and if they’re like me and their grandmothers are no longer around, they’d give anything to be able to take a seat at that table one more time.
Of course with time most of us will be grandparents too. If we stick with it, maybe we’ll be able to produce meals that our family will remember long after we’re gone.
Even if we’re not good with recipes, they’ll know the most important ingredient is love.
