Don't be surpised if there are extra keystrokes in this post. My fingers are sticky, as is every other part of me, from canning peaches tonight. Yes, I have gone domestic and actually bottled fruit. (Not only that, I actually bought my OWN steamer-thing. That would be more impressive if I knew what it was called, huh?)
My mom, dad and sisters turned my mom's kitchen into a factory and cranked out 50 quarts and 30 pints. We canned until we ran out of bottles, energy and time.
The peaches were in the kitchen, filling every container Dad could find when he picked them. At one point, we came in and found Doug sitting on top of the peaches in the laundry basket. I yanked him out and started scolding him and he just looked at me with that "What did I do wrong?" look. He sits on my laundry in the basket all the time-- I guess he didn't see the difference. That's Doug for you.
Peaches, peaches, peaches. Mike ate so many, I'm just waiting for the poor kid to start moaning from the bathroom. I'm pretty sure that's all the kids had for dinner. Come to think of it, that's what I ate too. I think I've had enough, though. Until next year, that is...
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