Canning: Reviving the Art of Survival

This week I bought twelve pounds of strawberries from Kroger and turned them into strawberry jam. So I’m pretty much a homesteader now. 

Recently I wrote some posts about the Little House on the Prairie series, and I’m still surprised how much I learned from those books. For example, this week I was thinking about how often we take food for granted today. When we’re craving something specific, we don’t think twice about how impossible it would have been to get it back in the day. In fact, we can usually find a way to enjoy it within the hour. Want crisp, juicy apples in winter? Seasons are no hindrance to grocery stores. Want authentic Lebanese food in Michigan? Just Google a highly-rated restaurant nearby and hop in your car. Want fried chicken with all the fixin’s but don’t feel like leaving your couch? No problem. Have takeout delivered. 

Something Gained; Something Lost

But for all our conveniences, we’ve lost some pretty important skills. I bet you know what I mean. When grocery aisles were picked over or empty in 2020, what went through your head? Did you feel a little tremor of fear when you realized you’ve rarely grown, harvested, or killed your own food before? That you have little to no knowledge of how to keep your family alive without your local grocery store? That, unless you were able to buy some packages and cans, you’d have to go foraging for acorns? 

No? Just me? Well, fine. Maybe you didn’t get all worked up, and that’s great. Personally, I didn’t freak out too badly, but there were times I was definitely concerned about the lack of supplies and my own lack of skills. Ma Ingalls knew how to provide for her family day after day, all year long, even with nary a soul on the horizon. She used every part of an animal, preserved everything that came out of the ground, and utilized anything edible they could find. Granted, they were at the (sometimes severe) mercy of weather, pestilence, and blight, but they always made do. 

Educated and Incompetent

And today? Today most of us have traded basic survival skills for impractical academic specialties. Now, before you get your petticoats in a wad, hear me out. I don’t mean that as an insult, and I wholeheartedly count myself among the affected. I majored in English Education with a minor in Creative Writing. If, God forbid, we ever face an actual food crisis, I’m equipped to write a touching memoir as I eat pages from my home library and slowly waste away. Not to mention that Pa Ingalls built several log cabins by hand, and I nearly lost my cool trying to assemble a toddler tent the other day. Four years of college, and I’m worse off than your average schmuck from a century ago.

That’s what I mean by “impractical” specialties—selectively helpful, yet unlikely to sustain one’s physical body without the aid of modern society. True, every job is practical in its own way, and I’m thankful for all the career options we have today. But how many of us also know how to sew, cook, build, and fix? Those skills seem “impractical” today, but they were common sense in nearly every culture until quite recently. 

Dusty Old Skills

Thankfully, we live in a society that has structured itself around people like me. We can’t all stay home to tend flocks of sheep and grow lima beans. Each of us has an important role to play in keeping civilization chugging along the greasy path of progress. I’m thankful for stocked grocery stores and full pantries, and I’m thankful for my degree which provides the totally-essential skill of inwardly critiquing everyone’s grammar, both written and spoken. It’s a real bread winner, that. 

But as helpful and charming as my education is, I still have vast tracts of mental and experiential land lying fallow. It seems wise to begin recovering basic skills that have been gathering dust for the past hundred years. I can’t do everything, but I can do something. I won’t be a full-time homesteader, but maybe I can plant a few more crops each year. Maybe I can practice canning store-bought produce until I’m ready to grow my own. Maybe I can slaughter a chicken. 

…Nah. 

But there are other non-slaughtery skills I should begin to practice now. 

Yoda Meets Rambo

The good news is, I have a built-in tutor: my mother. She’s straight outta the prairie, y’all. She’s got a big ol’ garden and has been canning stuff for decades. She’s the Yoda of all things “from scratch.” Her lesson on jam making this week demystified the process and instilled canning confidence in me. Also, she’s tougher than an angry she-bear. If there’s ever an apocalypse of any kind, you can bet I’ll be hiding out in my parents’ basement as she stands guard at the front door, dressed like Rambo and armed with a pitch fork. (No joke. I’ve seen what her pitch fork can do. RIP, groundhog.) 

I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen much growing up because, well, cooking with kids takes about 35 times longer than doing it yourself. Ergo, I missed out on many essential years of tutelage. But now I’m of an age to invite myself into her workspace and only make things go 23 times slower, and I won’t take no for an answer. I’m there to practice skills, take notes, make messes, and absorb wisdom. I intend to pass this wisdom on to my children and my children’s children. Because that’s how humans have thrived for millennia, and it’s how we’ll continue to thrive, regardless of grocery stores or impractical academic specialties. 

Plan a Jam Session

So there it is. I’m taking tentative steps toward practicality. Interested but daunted? Not sure where to start? Try canning some strawberry jam! Trust me, it’s not as complicated as it seems. Did you know that every box of Sure Jell has a pamphlet with simple jam and jelly instructions inside? It’s so easy, even a pioneer could do it!

One more thing: when you begin to gain or hone skills like this, make sure you pass them on to your kids or friends. Have a jam session together. Find ways to involve them as you learn. Even if the grocery store shelves are always stocked, you’ll still be the richer for practicing these talents together. The memories alone are worth it. 

So long for now! I’m off to enjoy some toast with a generous smattering of fresh strawberry jam. Next up: learning how to skin a rabbit!

…Just kidding. We’re going to make dill pickles.