Wednesday, August 23, 2017
Okra And Despair (Didn't Flannery O'Connor Write A Story With That Title? She Should Have)
I pickled a lot of damn okra today. Eighteen pints, five half pints and two quarts to be exact. I used every jar and lid in the house I had and made huge batches of brine twice.
One of my pints is in the refrigerator because I touched the lid and it popped down and I never trust that sort of seal. I am keeping my hands off the rest of them. And oh, one half pint jar broke its bottom out as soon as I put it in the canner of boiling water.
These things happen.
For some reason I do not feel my regular sense of satisfaction at all of these pickles. Maybe it's because I didn't grow the okra myself. I don't know.
I just wrote a political paragraph or two and then deleted them. What good does any of it do? Talk, talk, talk.
I don't really have much to say tonight. I made a lot of pickled okra. I hope it's good.
I wish it would rain.