by Sara Barry | Jul 28, 2014 | canning, kids in the kitchen, summer, use what you have
I had an eight-hour canning extravaganza on Saturday, which felt utterly productive.
I knew I was in for dilly beans and raspberry jam and raspberry chocolate liqueur sauce, but when I showed up at my friend Kath’s house she had a colander full of cucumbers too. Always game, I asked, “Dill or bread & butter?”
Since the dill pickles we like need to sit for at least 12 hours (and I wasn’t planning on staying quite that long), we decided on bread & butter. But there were all those jalapenos. Our first batch of spicy bread & butter pickles was born.
When making these pickles, the cucumber, onion, and peppers sit in a salt brine for two hours before you cook and can them, so we started the process and then went to pick raspberries. We came in got our jars heating, had lunch, and got canning.
We had a not quite full small jar to wrap up our batch of pickles, so after it cooled a bit, we stuck it in the fridge. We usually end our canning days with ice cream, but instead we ended with pickles. They were cold and sweet and spicy all at once. We ate the whole jar standing up and agreed this was a keeper. I liked them so much, I made another batch on Sunday by myself.
In eight hours, we squeezed in
- a batch of hot bread and butter pickles
- a double batch of dilly beans
- a double batch of raspberry jam
- a double batch of raspberry chocolate liqueur sauce (so good on ice cream)*
- a single batch of raspberry-mint-lavender jam (my big girl kept suggesting raspberry mint, so we tried it).
Hot Bread & Butter Pickles
(adapted from The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving)
10 cups cucumbers sliced into rounds
2 cups onion sliced (I prefer thick slices)
2 cups sliced jalapenos (we kept the seeds in)
½ cup pickling salt or Kosher salt
3 cups white vinegar
1 tsp turmeric
1 tsp celery seeds
2 Tbsp mustard seeds (we use mix of yellow and brown)
2 tsp pickling spice
- Mix the pickles, onions, and peppers with salt and cover with cold water. Let sit for 2 hours.
- Prepare 6 pint jars for canning: wash jars and bands in hot soapy water, rinse, and put into a filled canning pot. This recipe should make 5 pints, but I’ve learned to always put an extra jar the same size or smaller in the canner, just in case. Put the flat lids in a heat-proof bowl. Get your canning station set up: layout a towel on the table or counter. Get your ladle, funnel, tongs, slotted spoon, and a wet paper towel or clean rag ready.
- Go pick raspberries, have lunch, read to your kids, or whatever you like until the two hours is up.
- Start heating the canning pot.
- Mix the vinegar and spices together in a large pot. Bring to a boil. While that’s heating, dump the vegetables into a colander and rinse under cold running water.
- As soon as the vinegar mixture begins to boil, add the vegetables. Again bring just to a boil. Turn off the heat.
- Remove jars from the canning pot. Ladle water from the canning pot over the flat lids.
- Spoon the veggies into the hot jars, packing fairly tightly. Ladle the vinegar brine into the jars, leaving ½ inch headspace.
Wipe the rims of the jars clean. Place a lid on each jar and screw on the band.- Put the filled jars back in the canning pot. Cover and bring the water to a boil. Once it reaches a boil process for 10 minutes (adjust for altitude if necessary).
- Then turn off the heat and removed the cover. Let jars sit for 5 minutes. Remove onto a clean towel. Wait for the delightful ping of the jars sealing. If one doesn’t seal, stick it in the fridge to enjoy now.
* If raspberry chocolate liqueur sauce sounds good, look for Sundae in a Jar in The Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving. We replace the strawberries with raspberries.
by Sara Barry | Jul 23, 2014 | grief, parenting, summer, writing
I used Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day,” as inspiration today. The last lines alone would make a good starting point:
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
But, my mind caught on some of her other words, and I wrote this:
Do I know how to pay attention any more? Yesterday, I stopped, hands poised over keyboard, falling into relax, when a whirring caught my eye. A humming bird hovered and darted among my neighbors red bee balm. I could have glanced up, kept writing, kept filling the page, checking things off my list. But I sat. I watched. It’s good to look up sometimes, or down at the ants trundling through the grass, carrying crumb nearly bigger than they are. One of the activities K added to our list of things to do when bored was watch birds up in the sky. I should sit and do this with her sometimes. I should slow down on our walks, really notice, but so often I am trying to get somewhere or get some exercise or I need to be back by a certain time. What I wanted most from this summer was the laziness, the time to fall down in the grass, to pay attention.
“Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?” We are in a season of life and growth. I went out this morning, barefoot, to check on the garden. My feet swept through the dewy grass, so wet I could have had a long drink. I need to pull the peas. For even in this time of growing, they are done. The cosmos are almost taller than me and starting to flower. The sunflowers tower over me. The zinnias are just starting to reveal their brilliant pinks and oranges. Ah, the chard I thought wasn’t going to grow is taking off. I need to pick turnips again. I flick a few tiny seedlike eggs off the bottom of a squash leaf (squash bugs, something that doesn’t die too soon). Zucchini to pick later perhaps. Is the lettuce bin full in the fridge or should I pick some more? It too will soon be done. I should plant more.
We plant seeds knowing plants will eventually die, some after just one season. Even things we expect to live long don’t always. A neighbor gave us a peach tree for a wedding gift. Three years later as we were floundering together through grief, struggling each day to communicate with each other, tongues and brains numbed with sadness, both lost in our own dark worlds, the tree began to fail. The leaves yellowed and began to fall in the summer. I was too tired for a while to figure out what was wrong with it. Every day, I looked at our wedding tree and told myself it was not symbolic. I finally found the hole by the base of the tree where something had burrowed in, turning the trunk to mush. We scraped it out and hoped. The tree died. Six years later, we are still here. It was not symbolic. It was a just tree, dying too soon. That little boy of mine did that too.
His death, so many people would tell you, was supposed to help get my priorities straight, help me figure out just what to do with my wild, precious life, but I’m stuck like most of us in the mundane most days—folding laundry, making lunch, paying bills, getting to swimming lessons on time. I try to stop and notice, to really pay attention to the vivid faces of the zinnias in my garden and the fresh green smell of the cilantro I accidentally pull with the weeds. I try to really focus on K’s earnest face as she tells me about the fairies who came to her fairy house. I brush a wisp of blond hair away from her eyes, feel the excitement trembling through her. The moss is soft and damp underneath me as we sit in the green shade. K squats low, showing me how to make the house more inviting, more private so fairies will like them. Part of me zooms in on her small fingers poking, pointing, but part of me is poised to do, not the important things of this life, but the weeding and the work that keeps telling me it needs to get done, calling louder than the fairies or the birds or the rest of this summer day.
Your Turn
Write with Me:
Read Oliver’s poem or choose another poem to inspire you. Then start writing. Maybe you’ll mirror the subject or the theme of the poem, or maybe a particular word or phrase will evoke a memor or spark an idea. Take 15 minutes or so and just keep writing see where the poem takes you.
Share It:
Share your writing in the comments or email me at sarabarrywrites@gmail.com. I’d love to hear what you came up with.
Want another quick writing activity? Download Summer Stories in Five Minutes.
by Sara Barry | Jul 21, 2014 | kids in the kitchen, parenting, summer, what's for dinner
“I’m bored.”
My five-year-old is usually pretty good at entertaining herself, but today, as happens more and more in the afternoon, she started pouting, “I’m bored.” I threw out ideas, all of which led her to wail and writhe on the floor, saying, “I don’t know what to do. I’m bored.”
I bit back a sarcastic comment about all her toys. I didn’t order to clean the play room. I abandoned temporarily my own plan to get back out in the garden. “We’re going to do a project,” I told her.
“What’s the project?” she asked as I laid out a handful of colored pens and a stack of old business cards on the porch table.
“We’re going to write down our ideas of things to do when we are bored.” I half expected her to start pouting again, but she jumped right in, “If you’re bored, you can . . . ”
- Do art
- Ride your bike
- Play with your dog
- Play with your dolls
- Watch birds in the sky
- Set up the box fort
- Weed the garden
- Pick food from the garden
- Play a board game or card game
- Look at books
- Do a word search or maze
- Dust
- Swing on the swing
- Blow bubbles
- Wash the outside toys
- Play with chalk
- Hula hoop
- Give wagon rides
- Go on a scavenger hunt
- Make a fairy house
- Catch bugs
- Play with Play Doh
- Look for stuff for fairy houses
When she tired of listing ideas, she seized upon the last one we came up with—look for stuff for fairy houses—grabbed a basket, and went collecting. I weeded the garden and occasionally handed her things to add to her pile. I’m not sure how well our boredom busters will work when the next round of “I’m bored” starts, but making our set of idea cards broke the cycle today.
Inspired perhaps by her fairy house search, she asked to have fairy soup for supper. She described it me, made it, and ate it. I don’t know why it’s called fairy soup, but here it is.
K’s Fairy Soup
Seasoned black beans
“messy” cheese (shredded Mexican blend)
salsa
tortilla chips
- Spoon black beans into a bowl. Take only as much as you will eat.
- Add two child’s handsfuls of shredded cheese. Heat to warm the beans and melt the cheese.
- Stir in a spoonful of salsa.
- Crumble a few chips over the mixture, again taking only what you know you will eat.
- Serve with additional chips for dipping.
How do you deal with
“I’m bored?”
by Sara Barry | Jul 16, 2014 | summer, writing
I remember spending every day at the beach as a kid. We got there early to get a parking spot and our usual beach spot—up against the granite wall for shade in the afternoon, right under the Scout Hall—and stayed until late afternoon. I remember on really hot days staying for dinner, walking across the street to Jimmy’s for steamed hot dogs and maybe a treat of frozen candy bar or sticky, sweet Swedish fish.
I remember squeezing six kids and two moms in the car, spreading a towel across the seats so we wouldn’t burn our legs in the afternoon. We argued about window seats and being squished. We cranked down the windows and sang—Air Supply and Barry Manilow, chorus songs and Girl Scout songs—whether or not the radio worked. We peeled off each other when we got home and raced to be the first to rinse off with the sun-warmed hose.
I remember the introduction of sunscreen instead of suntan lotion and the high SPF of 8. I remember cotton t-shirts wet and heavy and towels spread over the backs of our legs when we were lying down to eat lunch. I remember painful red sunburns and itching and peeling and the medicinal smell of Solarcaine.
I remember tuna sandwiches packed in the orange topped Lil’ Oscar getting gritty with sand, washed down with fruit punch in paper cups doled out of the spouted red drink cooler. I remember waiting half an hour after eating before going in the water. I remember reading or my mom reading to me during that wait, my towel pulled up close to her chair.
I remember racing into the bone-achingly cold water, diving under, surfacing. I remember somersault contests in the water and floating on my back rocked gently by the waves. I remember playing truth or dare in the hot, dry sand, and making dribble castles in the soft, wet sand. I remember trying to “beat the waves” with my cousins using driftwood and rocks and kelp to strengthen our sand castles against the incoming tide.
I’ve taught my kids about dribble castles and still dive into the water quickly. They still eat sandy lunches, though their drinks come out of pouches. We arrive in our own car with them buckled into car seat and slathered with sunscreen. We don’t arrive in a gaggle of six kids but soon they are with one, for usually their cousins are there and maybe my cousins’ kids.
I didn’t know how lucky I was growing up at the beach every day, living with the sound and the smell of the sea seeping into me. For my kids, it’s a novelty, something to look forward to, a vacation. They love it, perhaps, as much as I do, but I wonder if in the same way. The beach was in some way, home, a place I knew well, where I spent a lot of time, where my mom made even the waiting a special time. And the ocean got under my skin, into my blood—the heavy but invigorating salt air, the crash and hiss of the waves, the constancy and changingness. I love were we live now, but I miss the ocean, and in the summer, I long to give my kids the beach as an everyday experience. Or maybe I just long for the days when I could run in and out of the water or laze around or complain about being bored while somebody else handed out lunches and spread the towels and read me stories.
Your Turn
Write with Me:
Start your own list beginning I remember. Your list can be related or random. If one idea demands to be explored, follow it. Take 10–15 minutes, and see what you remember. Use this as a warm up or keep your list around for later inspiration.
Share It:
- Share in the comments or email me at sarabarrywrites@gmail.com. I’d love to hear what you came up with.
- Read the list to your kids (if appropriate)—mine love hearing stories about me as a kid.
- Send your list to somebody who shared in your memories.
If you had fun with this, you might want to download Summer Stories in Five Minutes.
by Sara Barry | Jul 9, 2014 | books, finding time, reading, summer
I signed my kids up for the summer reading program at the library today. K wants to log enough hours for a small stuffed dog. Last summer it was a hula hoop. I don’t remember prizes when I was kid. I do remember coloring 50 segments of a dragon poster, one for each book I read. I finished it easily. Now, reading 50 books (if I don’t count picture books read over and over) in a full year is a feat.
My current stack: a mix of memoir, YA, fiction, mystery, and writing guide
When my girls were infants, I read more than I expected. I was sitting for hours a day feeding a baby, and I could read while I did that. When K was a baby, I reread childhood favorites mostly: Little House on the Prairie, Little Women, A Little Princes, The Secret Garden . . . When E was born, I jumped around reading gardening and food books, memoirs, and mysteries. I read late at night when I should have gone to bed and during nap time and in the pale dark morning light. Then they grew and started to interact and move, and my reading slowed down again.
Still, I keep a stack of books by my chair. Usually at least one has one of E’s watercolor bookmarks in it. I read at night, and if it’s a particularly gripping book, I keep reading in any spare moment I can find. I had just wrapped up Unbroken before vacation, but the beach has not been book friendly to me for years.
Then came last week. My sisters stacked beach chairs and boogie boards in the car, while I made sandwiches and packed up the towels and sunscreen. I don’t know what made me do it, but I tucked a book in my bag, shoving it under a towel as though I didn’t want anyone to see it.
Last year, I couldn’t imagine ever reading at the beach again. And yet this year, I packed a book—and I read a chapter.
I chose carefully, mind you. Molly Wizenberg’s Delancey has short chapters. It isn’t deep or complicated. You don’t need to follow a complex narrative. It’s interesting but not so gripping you can’t put it down.
I read a chapter of a book at the beach, and it felt like a small miracle. I’m coming out of a time when I couldn’t imagine reading the beach or making dinner while my kids played outside or writing several times a week, all things that I’ve settled into this year.
Looking ahead to this vacation, I was excited to get a dose of the ocean. As I drove, I realized too that I was also looking forward to having help. My kids would run with their cousins instead of telling me they were bored. My sisters would deal with a meltdown while I got dinner on plates or send somebody back to bed while I organized stuff for the beach the next day. We’d all see what needed to be done and step in and do it. So even though I was still figuring out meals and changing the little girl who wet the bed, even though I was packing for the beach and finishing the grocery list, it felt like vacation. I got a little break. I laughed. I was in one of my favorite places with my clan. And I got to read.
What are you reading this summer? (Or what’s in your want to read stack?)
by Sara Barry | Jul 1, 2014 | baking, summer
I took my girls strawberry picking this morning and came home with seven quarts. I was hoping for a bit more, but it was hot and sticky and the berries not overwhelmingly plentiful. I made jam on Saturday—a double batch of straight up strawberry and a double of strawberry rhubarb—so even though I was intrigued by the idea of a strawberry basil jam, I crossed jam off my list today. I love making jam, but I admit I wasn’t too upset to avoid a steamy kitchen.
Here’s what I did instead:
- Froze them whole. I like to have bags of berries in the freezer to chop into oatmeal or smoothies throughout the year. We ran out of strawberries from last season about a week ago, so it was time to stock up.
- Made ice cream. I thought about strawberry shortcake for dessert, but did I mention it was hot today? I didn’t want to turn on the oven, so I thought cold instead. I found some chocolate cake in the freezer and served the still soft ice cream over it.
- Made popsicles. As I was hulling the strawberries to freeze, I pulled the ones with mushy spots or the ones my three-year-old picked that were half ripe, half yellow. I put the good bits in a bowl and blended them up with a little limeade. Four popsicles are now solidifying in my freezer.
- Froze margarita cubes. I figured this one out last year. Throw your smooshed berries in a blender and pour into ice cube trays. Then use the strawberry ice cubes in margaritas (or toss them in lemonade to make a “fancy” drink for the kids). I used the leftover popsicle mix this year.
- Baked a pie. I know. I said I didn’t want to turn on the oven. Even at 10, when a coolish breeze was occasionally slipping into the kitchen, I didn’t want to turn it on, but my husband’s a pie guy with a birthday coming up. I went with the classic strawberry rhubarb (recipe below).
- Ate them. Sometimes I get so busy doing things with the stuff I pick, I forget to just savor it. The kids grabbed them off the counter for a snack as they ran through the kitchen. I kept tasting as I was cutting them, and I put a scant quart aside for breakfast.
What are you doing with strawberries this year?
Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
2 1/2 cups sliced strawberries
2 1/2 cups sliced rhubarb
3/4 cup sugar
1 egg
2 Tbsp. water
handful of cornflakes
pie crust (top and bottom for a 9-inch pan)
- Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.
- Put the bottom crust in a 9-inch pan. Crush the cornflakes and sprinkle over the crust.
- Combine the strawberries and rhubarb in a medium bowl.
- In a small bowl, mix the sugar, egg, and water together. Pour over the strawberry-rhubarb mix and stir to combine.
- Pour the filling into the crust in the pie pan.
- Cover with the top crust, crimp the edges, and cut a few slits in the crust.
- Bake for 10 minutes. Then reduce heat to 350 degrees and bake for about 40 minutes more. The crust should start turning golden and the filling should bubble lightly.
