Tornadoes and Home Canning

In central Kansas where my mother grew up, tornadoes were a fact of life.  My grandfather believed in a state of readiness. The basement of the two-story farmhouse had a room within a room, built of cement blocks.  It was the "storm cellar,"  and it contained an ax and a kerosene lantern as well as a couple flashlights.

This was also the room where my grandma kept her home-canned goodies.  Now we think of summer as a  time to relax and enjoy life.  Consider making your own ketchup (she spelled it catsup) piccalilli, and jams of every flavor.  She also put up  peaches, pears,  and apricots.    And tomatoes from the big garden.  Quarts and quarts of tomatoes.  Grandma did all of this on an electric stove that we would sneer at, in a  galley style un-airconditioned kitchen. 

Whenever a thunderstorm blew up, my grandpa went outside to assess the situation.  If he didn't like the look of the clouds, we were be trundled out of bed and sent traipsing down to the storm cellar.  The storms always seemed to come at 2;00 a.m. when one was snug in bed.  Didn't matter.  There were benches to sit on, and we sat.  And waited.  When the wind died down, grandpa would go upstairs and take another look at the sky.  Either we went back to bed or we  stayed put.  His word was law. 

Years later, when I was grown up and living in Massachusetts a tornado did hit the town.  In an old box of black and white photos there's a picture of a twister.  Scary to the max.  I feel so sorry for the folks whose homes and lives were ripped up by the funnel clouds.  Makes me thankful for grandpa and his cellar.  The memory of grandma's homemade strawberry jam makes be salivate for a spoonful.  What's priceless are the memories.

The house looks much smaller than I remembered, and there were tricycles and toys outside last time I drove by.  The storm cellar is undoubtedly still there.  I doubt if it's full of home-canned pints and quarts.  I hope the  people living there now use it when the sky blackens and the winds howl.

Hunkering down for Earl

After twenty-seven years in New England, we know the hurricane drill.  It wasn't always that way.  In 1985, when Gloria roared through, I drove to work the morning of the storm to find the office closed.  Ooops!  We watched the barometer fall, and the winds came and of course the power went out.  When the storm was over, neighbors came outside to inspect the damage.  One little boy (and I am not making this up) kicked the hornet's nest that had fallen during the storm.  Bad idea.  So when The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest, came out, I had a visceral image of the consequences.  The power stayed out for four days.  We found our son's old Boy Scout camp stove and fired up the grill and cooked all the food as it defrosted in the fridge.  Some weird meals, but a) we were well fed and b) nothing spoiled. 

My neighbor went nuts because she had just made a HUGE mass of hors d'oeuvres and frozen them and they were all ruined.  In that house, we had a name brand electric stove that was crap personified, and now we have a nice gas stove that you light with a match if the power is out, and we can cook and cook. 


Nonetheless, we have plenty of water, batteries, candles, lanterns, etc. handy if the situation deteriorates.  And cat food.  Always cat food.  The tortoise cat and the orange cat are still not friends, despite the fact that the orange cat would like to be.  Thisbe (the tortoise) comes around very slowly.  It takes years.  She is innately suspicious.

 The Garden Before the Storm.  Earl, be kind!

I cleaned off the deck and the front porch.  Need to repot my scented geranium.  Have to remember to take down the hummingbird feeder.  Hope my birdies will be safe.  They are so dear to me.  Maybe some fresh nectar to get them through the day.  I have my nectar making down to a science. 

Wondering about the local golf tournament, the Red Sox game and all that stuff.  It's beyond boring at night when the electricity is off.  Best to find a cinema with power.  It's dark at 7:30 and no one wants to go to bed THAT early.  Haven't tried to read my Kindle by lantern light.  Why am I so sure the power will go off?


BECAUSE IT ALWAYS DOES!  

Friends in Florida are emailing "better you than us."  I don't know about that.  Seems a bit schadenfreude-ish. 

Onward, to nectar cooking and scented geranium repotting.  There are worse tasks.   Wish us well.

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