How I found myself in a pickle
Do you remember the comedienne Lucille Ball? Have you ever felt like you were living in the middle of an episode of “I Love Lucy”? Sometimes I feel my life parallels that of Lucy. Not that I’m Lucy; I’m more like her sidekick, Ethel. I’ve wondered what Lucy’s life would have been without Ethel? For that matter, have you ever thought about what that sitcom would have been like as “I Love Ethel”? Somehow, I think it would have never fit the format. Lucy always managed to use Ethel’s naïveté to her advantage. I found myself feeling as though I was in such an episode a short time ago when I agreed to a joint canning session with one of my friends.
The session began with her setting up the canning apparatus on her deck, filling the tub with water and lighting the fire. We then drove to a local farmers market to purchase about 2025 pounds of small cucumbers. We found ourselves driving down a county road to the market. My friend said she would go in and “case the joint.” She came back and reported that this market didn’t sell to individuals, but she persuaded them to sell her a case of their pickling cucumbers. As she was explaining this to me, I watched as a man approached the truck pushing a dolly loaded with a 40-pound case of cucumbers. She “cased the joint” all right.
My thought process was going haywire, wondering how on earth just the two of us would ever get all those cucumbers cleaned, sliced, pickled, canned, etc. by the end of the day. My facial expression must have transmitted this information directly to my friend as she looked at me and said, “What?” I swallowed hard and said, “That’s my question — what? What were you thinking?”
But she didn’t stop there. We then drove to another farmers market, where she purchased green tomatoes and mixed vegetables for relish. Now my mind was swirling with pictures of the unfolding day and its activities. I calmly said, “It looks like we have enough to make kosher dills, salty dills, sweet, bread & butter, tomato relish and mixed vegetable relish.” She was turning cartwheels and exclaiming, “Wahoo!” I began to get a feeling in my gut that we would be spending the night canning.
Upon returning to her home, she checked the water bath on the deck and came running in the house exclaiming she had no idea how hot it had gotten outside. Why, it was so hot all the water in the tub had evaporated. I was bewildered wondering how so much water could evaporate in such a short time and was quite puzzled as I looked at the empty tub.
Her husband came out to take a look, shook his head and told her she failed to remove the siphon from the tub and all the water had emptied out on the patio below the deck. After refilling the tub, she ran into the house exclaiming that she just couldn’t get the darn thing relit. Once again, her husband came to the rescue, took a look and found she had turned the wrong lever. Instead of turning the fire off, she had shut the whole darn thing down.
We finished our session at 11 p.m., and believe me, it was a day to remember. We canned 100 jars of pickled stuff. I bet you can guess what everyone got for Christmas that year. As I was leaving, she asked me if I wanted to join her in a jam making session next week. My instinct said no, but the adventurous side of me said, “Go for it.” Heck, I had already been pickled, so why not be jammed, too?