The Meaning of Mason Jars
By Fay Mitchell
Pop! That was the sound of the the vacuum seal locking on the Mason jar, marking another successful canning effort, and preventing spoilage and disease. Canning is quite an undertaking, and one that housewives in the U.S. have tackled since the early 20th century when Mason jars became mass produced.
To me, the Mason jar was a thing of beauty, largely because of the treasures it contained. My mom believed in capturing the goodness of the garden so on a winter’s day we might be blessed with canned peaches, tomatoes, pickled beets, blueberry jam, or the flavor that I craved the most — pear preserves.
Capturing these treats was the final step in a long process. Mom believed in having a bountiful garden, producing cabbage, collards, turnips, okra, peas, string beans, onions, tomatoes, corn, squash, cucumbers, beets and peppers. While I hated turnips, early June peas were a spiritual joy. I swear they bear no kinship to the offerings in today’s grocery store.
The work usually started with planting and harvesting, of which I was a reluctant participant. And for a few years mom decided to plant an acre of cucumbers to supplement her income, since teachers weren’t paid during the summer. Early morning risings to travel to the field while dew was on the cucumber vines, which sometimes were wrapped in weedy morning glory, was no way for a girl to spend a summer. But then, sweet pickles with a saltine cracker was pretty good compensation.
Often there were peaches on the tree at the family farmhouse near us, and if it was not a good year she bought some. Picking them wasn’t so bad, but peeling them was another story. Sitting under the carport and sweating in July heat and humidity in eastern North Carolina was a character-building exercise. At least when the pears were ready for picking it was much more pleasant in October. Such a delight were pear preserves, in a dark, heavy syrup; simultaneously soft and firm. Having them on a winter morn for breakfast with eggs and bacon with rind…heaven must be like this!
Grandmom was a practiced canner as well. Her pear preserves were lighter in color and texture. I think she used more lemon rind. But they were still darned good. Her specialty was pickled watermelon rind. There was something almost translucent in their sweetness. She was prone to put up string beans and huckleberries too. Ah, it was all so wonderful. The Mason jar made it all possible. Never mind the hours of boiling water for sterilization or timing to make sure the seals were set. Such efforts, whether by necessity or choice, for generations meant meals with comfort and goodness long after the garden was gone. Now the Mason jar is fashionable since so many folks have been gardening and seeking simpler, environmentally friendly food sources in COVID times. The Mason jar also is popular at some trendy clubs or “authentic” beer pubs, or for re-purposing as candle holders or vases for weddings.
But for me the Mason jar will always be a way to capture the goodness of the earth, the warmth of the summer sun, and the love of women who honored the work of giving love back to their families.
