Planting for Mom

All week I've been thinking about what I could do to celebrate my late Mom's birthday. She would have turned 69 today. And then it came to me: I decided to plant my fall bulbs with my daughter on Saturday. We had experienced a quick shift in the weather the two days before--about 35 degrees colder to be exact, accompanied by mountain snow and valley rain. So when the early afternoon skies looked stable, but cool, I called her out to help. We pushed aside the bark, seedum ground cover, and even a first few fall leaves to find the popsicle sticks that I'd used to mark the spots in May where I wanted to fill in some spots with pink and white daffodils, persian blue alliums, and vanilla cream tulips. There's something about tucking a dormant bulb deep into the ground that seems to nicely compliment our other autumnal activities and preparations for winter. I was probably nine or ten when Mom showed me how to drop them in on top of a spoonful of bone meal. Just as she did then, I'm sure I reaped more from the experience this weekend than my 14-year old, who seemed anxious to head back inside to sit in front of the fire. I can't wait to see them bloom next spring, and many more after that. Mom would be so pleased.

Canning Season

We've been blessed this fall in two ways: first, with beautiful sunny days that barely touch 75 degrees in the early afternoon for the last two weeks, and secondly, with two trees brimming with Elberta peaches. Standing over the sink yesterday as I gently pulled the skins off of one immersed in an icy bath, I thought about how many years I have been "putting up peaches" (as they say here in Utah). My sisters will attest to the indelible memory we have of standing in the kitchen, the oscillating fan moving the unusually warm air for Rexburg, and each of us "manning" a station of the production line that my Mom had so skillfully contrived for us. She instructed us at every turn, including the careful placement of the rosy halves into the jar so the end result would be pleasing to the eye. My husband and I canned peaches at Wymount Terrace our first year of marriage--I was so eager to carry on this tradition. I know there were years after that when I had a baby in a  backpack or holding onto my legs as I finished filling the final quart jar to complete a batch. Is it worth it you ask? Who knows. This year, the satisfaction of preserving the fruit grown and picked from our very own trees is rewarding. The sweet smell of the syrup and steam from the canner will always remind me of Mom's home canning crusade.