Reflections on the Twelfth Week of Summer

     We reached the season when, despite Spence's pride in finding a great sale on pork or chicken, I say, “Don't buy any more freezer meat.” This year even the refrigerator-top freezer complained. Loud grinding moans sounded its imminent demise. Spence pulled packages away from the air vents to stop the noise and ordered a small GE freezer chest. Ramon and his partner drove the chest up from Pittsburgh Thursday and carried it to the basement. I bought wire baskets and filled them with strawberries, blueberries, beans, and the latest too-good-to-pass-up sale meat.

     Most of our harvest isn't frozen, however. We dry onions, garlic, potatoes, and squash. Spence cans tomato sauce and pickles cucumbers and peppers. He eats radishes and salad greens fresh. I bake apples–just three this year–into pie. Only the asparagus, peas, strawberries, blueberries, beans, and zucchini get frozen.

      Besides giving us home grown food all winter, the harvest delights with its beauty. I climbed a chair to the counter for a better angle on a still life photo. Unfortunately, I put the back of the chair against the cabinets. Stepping over that to get down required more balance than I wanted to risk. I asked Spence for help. He chuckled, took the camera out of my hands, and stepped back to take my picture before helping me down.