I CAN! (sorta)

(Darling pic stolen shamelessly from Judith's
blog-Thanks Judith!)
I have never been much for domesticity. I would much rather run around doing fun things or even work than spend my days alphabetizing the soup cans in my pantry or meticulously scrubbing the baseboards. Now this is not to say that I live in a pigsty (ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you that my house is fairly clean), or that I think that women who are domestic are lame. Not so! I truly admire those who can make their grandma's salsa from memory or create delicious pie crusts from scratch (that one's for you MJ)-that is just not how I roll, but more power to those women who do.

Anyhoo, when we bought the house we live in currently, we inherited two massive peach trees. Oh goody, I thought-we'll have yummy peaches to eat in the summer. Little did I know. These two monstrous freaks of nature have produced I'll wager to say THOUSANDS of peaches in the last two weeks. Everyone I've talked to lately seems to think a yard overflowing with fruit was the greatest thing since winning the lottery. However, I have been less than enthusiastic because I'm-(gasp) a NON-CANNER! Being a non-canner in Utah is almost as scandalous as being a Democrat. But I digress...

I was all for putting a sign in the year saying,"Free Peaches, you pick!" What a charitable thing I would be doing for the less fortunate! But the CANNERS weren't having it. Everyone and their canning cousin wanted to help me turn those little balls of juicy sweetness into a year's supply of cobblers and whatever else for my family. So I gave in-as long as I didn't have to be involved in picking the hairy little devils (man that fuzz is ITCHY!), I would participate in the canning effort.
So Saturday afternoon, Kimmie (my SIL), and Joan (MIL), came with the goods. Jars, rings, sugar galore, spcial little knives that would cut the fruit but not your fingers, and the double boilers. It was a family affair, a cooperative effort on the part of everyone there from Kent and Richard picking peaches and supervising the boilers out on the deck, to little 'ol me peeling and quartering peaches til my hands and fingernails turned brown (disgusting, but it's amazing what a little bleach under the nails can do). Seven long hours later, we gazed admiringly at our 61 (yes, SIXTY ONE!) quarts of peaches. It was a lot of work, but a very "fruitful" experience that I think I would do again-in about 5 years when all these jars are gone. It was even maybe just a little fun and I am quite proud of that shy little domestic goddess within me who came out for the canning-fest.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with the rest of the peaches out there on those trees-My pantry runneth over!