In My Defense, They Looked Like Pickles!

If you’re an Andy Griffith Show fan, you probably remember Aunt Bee’s infamous homemade pickles.

The ones that tasted like kerosene.

Well.

Apparently Aunt Bee and I have more in common than I realized.

I know how to can a lot of things.

Tomatoes? Absolutely.

Jam? Please.

Peaches, spaghetti sauce, chicken stock, hot sauce, pickled peppers? I can line those beautiful little jars up on the counter, stand back, admire my handiwork, and feel dangerously close to becoming insufferable.

There is something about a pantry full of home-canned food that will give a woman entirely too much confidence.

You start thinking things like, Why DO people buy this stuff at the grocery store?

You begin casually mentioning that you make your own yogurt.

You bake bread.

You grow vegetables.

You preserve things. All the things.

At some point, you look around your kitchen and think, Martha Stewart and I are basically peers.

And that, friends, is when the cucumbers come for you.

Pickles are apparently where the Lord has chosen to keep me humble.

I have yet to figure them out.

And I don’t mean I made a batch that was just a little too soft.

Or maybe they needed more dill.

Or perhaps the brine could use a little tweaking.

No.

These were BAD.

Aunt Bee bad.

Possibly worse.

I opened that first jar with the confidence of a woman who had done everything right. I washed them, trimmed them, packed them lovingly into jars with garlic and dill, made the brine, processed the jars, listened for those glorious little pings, and then patiently waited.

They looked beautiful.

Professional, even. Frankly, I was already mentally accepting compliments.

Then I tasted one.

There was no magic.

There was only regret.

I stood there chewing it for a second, trying to understand exactly what had gone wrong.

Too sour?

Too salty?

Too vinegary?

Had I accidentally invented something capable of removing paint from metal?

I couldn’t identify the exact crime that had been committed against those cucumbers.

I just knew I had committed it.

Still, I am nothing if not optimistic.

Well, optimistic and cheap.

I had prepared these cucumbers. I had bought the lids. I had used the vinegar. I had heated up my kitchen in Texas in the middle of summer.

I was NOT giving up easily.

Maybe they just needed more time.

Maybe they needed to be colder.

Maybe they would be better chopped up.

Maybe I could turn them into relish.

Maybe potato salad could absorb whatever evil had taken place inside that jar.

Maybe if I rinsed them?

Maybe if I added sugar?

No.

There was absolutely no saving that travesty in a jar.

Every single one of them had to go. Thankfully there were only three jars in total! At least it was a small travesty!

And there is something especially humbling about throwing away food you prepared yourself, preserved yourself, and proudly put on a shelf as evidence that you have your life together.

Into the trash they went.

Every. Last. Jar.

My pantry shelves suddenly had a little more room and my homesteading ego had considerably less ego.

But I suppose that’s part of learning to do anything.

I’ve made bread that could have been used as a hockey puck or door stop.

I’ve planted things that never came up.

I’ve planted other things that came up beautifully and were promptly eaten by something that apparently needed them more than I did.

I’ve scorched things, overcooked things, undercooked things, and occasionally looked at something I made and wondered how the same hands that produced yesterday’s beautiful loaf of bread managed to create whatever THAT was.

And now I can add kerosene pickles to the list.

You can be pretty darn good at a lot of things and still be absolutely terrible at something else.

That’s okay.

You laugh.

You throw away the evidence.

You learn something.

And you try again.

So next summer, I’ll find another recipe.

I’ll make another batch.

Because eventually I WILL figure out pickles.

And until then, Martha Stewart can rest easy.

I am clearly not coming for her job.

But Aunt Bee?

Aunt Bee and I are neck and neck. 🥒😂