DINING: Yes, we CAN!

My Mama Lola and Papa (shown here holding my infant father) raised their family of SIX in a house half the size of mine, in the Colonia of Oxnard, CA

Part of the process of renovating a century-old bungalow is putting myself in the shoes of the people who designed and built my house in the first place. I've lost track of how many of my soon-to-be neighbors have either politely asked, "Hmmm, so...you're ALL going to live there?" or have just straight up told me they think I'm crazy.  But here's what I know that they probably also know, if they stopped to think about it: our little bungalow was DEFINITELY designed for a family at least the size of mine. How do I know? For one thing, I've lived in this neighborhood nearly all my life, in at least five homes from the same era. I know that people didn't used to need 1,000 square feet of space per family member. Children shared bedrooms. EVERYONE shared one bathroom-luxury! Our "tiny" bungalow was designed with a dining room AND a breakfast nook off the kitchen (which is enormous by bungalow standards).  Also, and this is downright extravagant for the area, we have a CELLAR. 

Back in the day, the original family put very shallow redwood shelves along the walls in the cellar (which, admittedly, needs a redo).  The first time I went down there, I could almost see the rows of mason jars filled with beans, strawberry jam and, er, whatever else grows around here (I'm still working on that radish). It really helped me forget about the rat poop that was also down there for a minute!

Suddenly, I thought, "Hey there, what if I became a CANNER? What if I not only learned how to grow some food but PRESERVE it? You know, for the winter!" I know, we don't actually have winter here, but sometimes it's fun to play pretend. I started thinking about WHAT I could can: definitely my spaghetti sauce (I'm actually pretty good at that). Maybe pickles? How hard could pickles be?

I slowly started picking up canning supplies whenever I spotted a bargain. I checked out books from the library and watched Youtube videos on the various methods.  Then last weekend I finally had some time to give it a go. I was going to try spaghetti sauce. That was my FINAL DECISION.

​Then I came home to this: 

Our lovely neighbors are the drop-off house for the local CSA. Seems at least one person didn't pick up their box of fresh, locally grown organic veggies. So they brought all the leftovers to us. Yay?

Now I had at least $40 worth of fresh fruits and veggies to deal with, which would be fantastic, except I'd just packed my fridge with produce from the organic co-op I belong to. Change of plans!

I broke out my new pressure cooker (which I'd snapped up for a song on Ebay but had, until that point, been too scared to use) and spent the entire day processing and canning the stuff on my counter. Yes, me!
ME, CANNING. When I was done I had this:

The cucumbers and onions became bread and butter pickles. Because I'd just bought one of those small crates of cuties, I turned the oranges into marmalade (which was surprisingly simple and delicious!). I'm pretty sure I managed a botulism-and-listeria-free seal. Those two butternut squash? No match for my pressure cooker!

All my childhood and adolescence, whenever we'd visit Mama Lola and Papa (in the photo above) in Oxnard, we'd leave with a jar or two of my grandfather's salsa. He was very proud of his secret recipe, and home-grown ingredients. When I was a kid I'd always assumed that my grandmother had done all the canning, but in the decade after she died, my grandfather continued to replenish the salsa supply in a cupboard in his garage. Which means that he was the one who did the canning. My grandfather died just after my daughter, Lola, was born. She's in high school now. Until last weekend, it never occurred to me that I'd never actually seen him preserve anything he kept in the garage. I spent nearly half my childhood in their house.

​When the hell were they canning?