It's the end of another harvest season. At this point every year, Michelle (who more often than not bears the brunt of the canning work) is always wondering why we put ourselves through it. I'm not a nostalgic person, but pictures of past canning years keep popping up on our screensaver, and I love that this is part of my kids' history - picking grapes, washing tomatoes, blanching peaches, cranking the squisher for applesauce. I love working with the earth to grow food, even if it's sometimes more expensive and less convenient than what we can get at the grocery store. I love the connection to the foodways of my ancestors, that my great-great-grandparents could walk in the front door and recognize what we're up to and pitch in. I love that I know where this food came from, that I can point to the exact patch of dirt. I love that all winter long, we'll walk downstairs and grab a bottle of something delicious, fixed in time in the season thereof. 2020 2019 2018 20...