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48 THE RURAL VOICE
NOTEBOOK
T
he "Old Boy" insisted on
planting a garden. Soon he
was telling our friends I
was so proud of it that I went to look
at it every day. Little did he know,
and I certainly wasn't about to tell
him, that the only reason I went to the
garden every day was to tell the veg-
etables, "Look, if you know what's
good for you, don't grow, for I don't
want to can you."
It didn't work.
As the veggies insisted on
growing, multiplying, and doing
whatever else good veggies do, I
decided it was prudent to go visiting
for a while.
Two and a half hours of driving
brought me to my brother Dave's
doorstep. I told him I had left my
veggies. Like a good brother, he gave
me shelter for the night. The next
morning, his wife Elsie and I decided
to visit my youngest sister Audrey,
who lives on a farm two and a half
hours farther north. As soon as we
stepped into her porch, I knew I was
in trouble. For there sat 75 pounds of
veggies just waiting to be canned.
"Audrey," I gasped, "where did
you get those veggies?"
"Bought 'em," she replied.
"Why would anyone buy 75
pounds of cucumbers?" I asked as I
felt her forehead to make sure that she
wasn't running a temperature.
"The price was right," Audrey
replied nonchalantly.
•
by Coralie Adams
Elsie and I looked at each other,
then cried in unison, "What are you
planning on doing to those cucum-
bers?
"I'm going to make dills," Audrey
said, and promptly went off to milk
the cow.
Elsie and I looked at each other.
We twiddled our thumbs. We cleared
our throats. We looked out the win-
dow. We paced. We knew it was
coming and that we were powerless in
the face of it. It took barely five min-
utes from the time we stepped into that
porch until we were both trembling
mightily from a bad case of canning
fever.
"Let's get some jars and do up
those cucumbers!" we yelled in
unison. Up and down two flights of
stairs we went, to and fro from the
basement, hauling up every jar we
could find. We filled them all. Quarts
of them, gallons of them, and still
there were cucumbers sitting there
looking at us greenly, imploringly.
Audrey returned with a pail of
milk, surveyed the wreckage of her
kitchen, and asked mildly, "What have
you two been doing?"
"We was struck by the cannin'
fever!" I told her, "but we has plumb
run out of jars!"
Audrey set down her pail of milk,
marched to the phone, and placed an
emergency call to her neighbour. "Do
you have any jars that you can spare?"
The neighbour did. `Bring some