Canning Season

Uncle Perry was 104 when he died, at home in his own bed, surrounded by family and the sound of the sea. He gave Aunt Millie a final smile and squeezed her hand slightly, then closed his eyes and took a last breath. Millie wiped her tears, kissed his forehead, and then put on her apron to begin feeding the friends and relatives. It was the end of summer but still a busy season and there was much to be done - she had been in the middle of canning the last of the blueberries when Perry fell ill, having spent weeks putting up peach preserves, strawberries, and blackberry jam. It was a tradition and couldn't be abandonded. Your daddy could never abide waste, she told her oldest daughter with a bittersweet smile, Not in people or time and certainly not in preserves.

There were no signs that Millie was planning to give up. She finished her canning, continued to live in the house that Perry had built for her, turned up at church most every Sunday, still made biscuits every morning. Her children and grandchildren made time to spend with her and Uncle Willie made sure the old house was kept up, that the woodpile was stocked and the chickens fed. Island women dropped by regularly and a steady parade of children ran errands and did small chores. Millie welcomed one and all, understanding that this was her community doing what it did for those in need and that any protest would have fallen on deaf ears. But after the first year, she was worn out from the attention, from missing Perry, and from the effort of every day life and feeling fragile. She was ready to move on. These old bones weren't meant to last this long, Alice, she told my grandmother over biscuits and honey, And I reckon Perry's gettin' tired of waiting. I b'lieve I won't do any cannin' this season.

And she didn't. Nana arranged for the berries to be picked and then passed out all over the island to be canned and set aside for the winter. Aunt Millie oversaw it all, even teaching those who had never made preserves and passing on her recipies and meticulous directions. When she was satisfied that all was in good hands, that the importance of preserving and preparing for long winter nights had been established for another generation, when she had said her goodbyes and thank you's and written in her Bible for the final time, she stoked the wood stove to overflowing and sat in her old rocking chair by the window, rocking and watching the sea, until she fell asleep. Her work and her last canning season were over and she was not just content, but well pleased to move on.

Prepare for the winter, preserve for the future, and leave when the season is right, she told my grandmother the night before she died, It's been a good life but I'm done now.