Snow and peaches
Nov. 10th, 2006 08:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mrissaIt's snowing! And the snow is sticking to the ground, just a tiny bit in the grass! Oh, this is good. Finally the weather has remembered that it's supposed to be fall. And I get my peaches.
Nana -- my aunt's mother -- to be technical about it, my fake aunt's mother: this is a section of family we annexed rather than being born into or marrying into -- cans peaches. Passing out the jars of peaches is a big deal. There are rules about peaches. You cannot open them until it snows. (That was Nanu's rule, before he died.) You must, under penalty of no more peaches, return the jar when you're done. You only get peaches if you are an adult -- otherwise you are presumed to share in your parents' peaches. This is my first year getting peaches. It will also probably be my last.
Nana had a hemorrhaging brain aneurism in '00. She managed not only to live through it but also to maintain her personality at more or less its previous state (it helps that she was a bit eccentric to begin with) and to live in her own house by herself and carry on most of her normal activities. We are all extremely lucky. But luck is not infinite, and Nana's kids and kids-in-law have talked to her about how she's a lot shakier these days, how maybe canning peaches with hot syrup and boiling water is not the best thing for her to be doing any more. She has agreed that maybe it's not. This is the beginning of a long series of things she can't do any more. We're just lucky it didn't begin years ago.
So these are probably peaches from the last batch, and when I've eaten them, there will be no more of Nana's peaches. But I can't put them off, because if I do, it will take some of their sweetness away. It will become a question of when I can bear losing Nana, and I can't, because you never can. The proper time to open the first jar of peaches is when the snow has fallen, and that is what I will do, and when I'm done, I will wash the jar and return it carefully to her next time we're in Omaha, because that is how this works.
And they will be so good.
Nana -- my aunt's mother -- to be technical about it, my fake aunt's mother: this is a section of family we annexed rather than being born into or marrying into -- cans peaches. Passing out the jars of peaches is a big deal. There are rules about peaches. You cannot open them until it snows. (That was Nanu's rule, before he died.) You must, under penalty of no more peaches, return the jar when you're done. You only get peaches if you are an adult -- otherwise you are presumed to share in your parents' peaches. This is my first year getting peaches. It will also probably be my last.
Nana had a hemorrhaging brain aneurism in '00. She managed not only to live through it but also to maintain her personality at more or less its previous state (it helps that she was a bit eccentric to begin with) and to live in her own house by herself and carry on most of her normal activities. We are all extremely lucky. But luck is not infinite, and Nana's kids and kids-in-law have talked to her about how she's a lot shakier these days, how maybe canning peaches with hot syrup and boiling water is not the best thing for her to be doing any more. She has agreed that maybe it's not. This is the beginning of a long series of things she can't do any more. We're just lucky it didn't begin years ago.
So these are probably peaches from the last batch, and when I've eaten them, there will be no more of Nana's peaches. But I can't put them off, because if I do, it will take some of their sweetness away. It will become a question of when I can bear losing Nana, and I can't, because you never can. The proper time to open the first jar of peaches is when the snow has fallen, and that is what I will do, and when I'm done, I will wash the jar and return it carefully to her next time we're in Omaha, because that is how this works.
And they will be so good.
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Snow
Date: 2006-11-10 03:18 pm (UTC)B
Re: Snow
Date: 2006-11-10 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 04:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 05:10 pm (UTC)1) It's not the same thing to make someone's recipe as to have them make it. I know how this goes on other fronts. And:
2) I am a baker and a cook. I am not, so far, a canner. I don't really need to add another thing to my late-summer agenda every year (or even most years). I am preserving traditions that mostly involve flour. I can't do all of them. I am already hip-deep in rye bread and lussekatter and caramels and oatmeal sugar cookies and...well. The list can go on indefinitely.
Maybe this means it's not sufficiently important to me. I don't know. I do know that I need to keep room for other things in my life than family history. It's a tough balance, and sometimes it means I lose out on peaches. But the other things I do are important, too, and many of them come from traditions where there is no one else to pick up the recipes; in this case, Nana has grandchildren like crazy who could be the ones to can the peaches instead of me.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 06:07 pm (UTC)It's not even that canning is not my cup of tea as that I am steadfastly avoiding acquiring more tea. I have a default-yes that needs to be beaten down.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 06:08 pm (UTC)Exactly.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 06:51 pm (UTC)It will become a question of when I can bear losing Nana, and I can't, because you never can.
Yes.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-10 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-11 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-11 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-11 12:44 am (UTC)