Grandmother's Helper

I was Grandmother's little helper
And worked busily at her side;
Her kitchen hummed to the tempo
Of a crackling fire and canning time.
Dry fir and cedar snapped with glee
Inside the firebox's warm glow,
While the water rose, boiled, and steamed
In her copper boiler on the stove.
I washed two rows of small-mouthed jars
Until they sparkled, just like new.
And then I snapped baskets of string beans;
She watched, smiling at what I could do.
When the beans were scalded, cooled,
and packed
Into her quart jars close and tight,
She reached for a little open crock
And let me salt the beans, just right.
Then into her bubbling boiler
She lowered jars on a long, wire rack
While I lingered and tidied the kitchen
Or read cookbooks and old almanacs.
And my efforts were well rewarded
By the sparkle in Grandmother's eye
When she gazed at the resplendent store
In her cellar, then gave a happy sigh.
Oh,  how dear are all the memories,
Summers spent by my grandmother's side.
When her kitchen hummed
and sang softly
Of our fulfillment at canning time.

~ Joy Belle Burgess