Canning with Ag Marble

Every year for at least the last 9 years I have canned tomatoes, salsa, beans, apple pie filling, apple butter,  apple sauce, pears, and the works with Ag. She was Brad's grandma, but more than that she was my really good friend. You may remember she died some months back- an event that completely caught me off guard, because if anyone was tough enough to never die it was Agnes Marble.

She was a hero to me, she taught me so much.  She taught me about plants, pie crusts, sourdough starters, she held my hand while I killed my first chicken, together we herded cattle across the creek, she let me bottle feed a calf, she took the nastiest splinter out of my thumb when I didn't have the guts to even look. She treated me as her own, her very own, and I took it. She wasn't really very sweet or gentle and didn't care to be, yet that tough (I could almost say caloused) love she practised snached my heart completely. She was the real deal, she always said what she wanted to and held little regard for those who didn't.

I had no intentions of canning this year, out of fear of the emotions it would bring up,  but when I walked by some of the most beautiful ripe tomatoes I forgot I wasn't going to can until after I had bought them. I knew it would make me sad. While I type this, the last of 49 quart jars are in the canner. I did it, I canned without the physical presence of Ag- but not for a moment was she away from my thoughts, not a second. Next year might be easier, but I almost hope it isn't, remembering someone no matter how painful, at least is still remembering. I'd rather remember in pain than forget.

What am I saying? There was no one I loved quite like Ag. I had no idea of how much death would cheat me- I wish I could give it a good punch in the gut. Then maybe these tears would stop coming.

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