From early childhood, we spent time in Oswego, New York. My grandparents canned and pickled things in the summer: corn relish, dill pickles, seckel pears. And I just remember the quantity and abundance that you needed to do these projects. Say strawberries, you would go to the farm stand and get these quarts. They were so fresh and so good. You’d make jam with it, and it was just the most delicious jam. The same thing with the vegetables. It’s a production. Everything is going to require tedious preparation: hulling the strawberries, slicing the cucumbers, pitting the cherries for hours, stirring the pot over the stove when it’s already hot outside. I think I’ve always been drawn to that kind of work; it’s repetitive but just becomes reflexive, like breathing. But then it’s also a very sensory experience. You smell it, you feel it, eventually you taste it. By the time I came along, it wasn’t a cost saving thing. They weren’t doing it because it was cheaper than buying from the grocery store. I think it was just a tradition. And maybe that’s another thing that was appealing about it. It seemed like a glimpse into a simpler time.