Jar of Hearts

Things Shaylene Sorensen Carter taught me:

1. How to make homemade marshmallows
2. To listen for the first bird of spring
3. The adage "NEVER RETURN AN EMPTY JAR"

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who understand #3, and those who don’t own a pressure cooker. I was clueless until I became a home canner.

Melissa pre-2002: Oh, thanks for this jar of peaches. (Puts on shelf in pantry.) Canned peaches are kind of slimy compared to fresh peaches. Meh. Maybe I’ll remember to use these sometime for a random smoothie in winter. (Uses peaches years later without a care, washes jar, puts in crawl space, it becomes a crypt for spiders.)

Melissa today: A jar of peaches? (Revived with smelling salts.) What the what? How did you get these? I stood in line an hour before Burgess Orchard opened the Friday before Labor Day to buy the “Limit 1 box per person” Elbertas that yielded 12 precious quarts. (Utah had a late freeze in June and therefore a 15% peach crop. Thieves even snuck on to orchards and stole peaches all season!) A jar of peaches? A JAR OF PEACHES! What can I give you in return? My 401K? My firstborn?

What’s the big deal about getting a jar of homemade something from someone? Let me illuminate for all the young Melissas out there:

1. THE JAR IS PART OF THE GIFT. Jars are not free and every jar requires a sealing lid and ring. Sealing lids are scarcer than unicorns this year and if I had not stockpiled them before Covid-19 hit I would be crying tears into my empty jars while my piles of fresh fruit rotted. (The scarcity of 2020 caused canners to create their own monetary system; I traded a box of pectin for a scoop of pickling salt and head of dried dill this fall. Garlic pickles > another batch of jam.)
2. THE FRUIT IS PART OF THE GIFT, both from the purchaser and the grower. Fruit is not free, in fact, the fresh, local stuff costs more because it’s picked at its peak. Just like this year’s peaches, fruit can be hard to come by. Tagge Farms, the CSA that delivered the sweetest, juiciest blackberries I’ve ever had, said Farmer Thayne slept at the end of the irrigation rows to make sure the berries were getting the water they needed. Thayne is a grandpa; I can’t look at my clamshell of blackberries without imagining a very tired farmer bedding down in the dirt on his bony hips to ensure a bumper crop.
3. THE LABOR IS PART OF THE GIFT. Labor is free, but it shouldn’t be. Do you know what you can’t see inside of a jar of applesauce? The blood, sweat, tears, arthritis (YOU crank two bushels of apples through the food mill!), tower of giant bowls teetering in the sink, burnt puddles on the stovetop, and the sticky, splattery, pulpy radius extending six feet from the kitchen control center. A simple jar of applesauce equals at least two hours of dishes, mopping, range scrubbing, and dog bathing (if your dog, like mine, likes to curl up under the food mill to lick the sticky leaks from the handle).
4. THE TIME IS PART OF THE GIFT. Time is free, but it is worth more than everything else combined! You don’t want to know how long it takes to make a jar of simmered-all-day spaghetti sauce from a bucket of fat Romas, or how long it takes to pit, blend, and strain plums for Frenchie’s “Glum” (grape-plum jam—completely divine). Whatever is in that jar warranted sharing, and was prepared and transformed by a busy someone in a dirty apron with plenty of other things to do.

The jar is, indeed, part of the gift—and there is no Vanderbilt etiquette stating jars should be given back—but it happens to be the only part of the original gesture one can give back. So while returning the empty jar is considerate, returning the jar with a little love inside—as a receipt of gratitude—is eminent.

Obviously, “jars” aren't all jars. For example, when Michelle gives me a circular, orange Tupperware full of cheese ball every January, I return it with a pack of gum or bag of chocolates inside to acknowledge the effort she put into making Greg happy. (And to thank her for saving me since I will never whip up cheese ball in mortality. Jar cheese weirds me out, but it’s a New Year’s necessity for Greg.)  

One year ago, God gave us a full jar labeled “2020”, and many are tossing that nearly empty jar from a high window watching it shatter with delight. Far be it for me to tell anyone else how to feel, but I just can’t summarize 2020 as a dumpster fire or the worst year ever. I also don’t want to return my empty jar to Him with an eyerolled prayer of lip service worded something like, “I’m thankful this year is finally over.” Certainly, there have been bummers, heartaches, deaths, tragedies, and losses, but what year doesn’t? Opposition has always been part of the plan, yet didn’t the Savior pre-pay for all of the suffering it causes in advance?

I want to give Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ their jar back full of hearts. I’ve tried to notice the fruit, labor, and time They put into my 2020, because “every good and perfect gift comes from above” (James 1:17).* I can't overlook how They slept at the end of my blackberry rows.

Personally, I enjoyed being forced to slow down enough to notice—and use—all that I have been given. Nature, friends, simplicity, and technology did not disappoint in 2020.

Elder Dale Renlund said, “Every time we use, benefit from, or even think of these gifts, we ought to consider the sacrifice, generosity and compassion of the givers. Reverence for the givers does more than just make us grateful. Reflecting on Their gifts can and should transform us. I invite you to remember each day the greatness of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and what They have done for you. Let your consideration of Their goodness more firmly bind your wandering heart to Them.”

Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ don’t want empty jars returned for Their benefit—They want them returned for ours. So tonight, after Greg deep-fries hot wings for himself (I’m more afraid of those than cheese ball) and fresh chips for my guacamole, and the boys eat frosted cupcakes we baked in jars, we'll bang pans and clink a toast of sparkling cider. Then I will tuck in my blondies, step on confetti as I shut down the house, and let my final act of 2020 be a quiet prayer of thanks.

These jars are from a postcard given out by a chalk paint company advertising their full spectrum of colors. I love the names. I'm gaga for French blue and absinthe, although further research taught "absinthe" is synonomous with "wormwood" and also poisonous. The Screwtape Letters suddenly makes sense...

Elder Renlund's full address here

*Some of my hearts:

• The biggie: Greg is alive and well and suffered no lasting damage from his stroke
• The other biggie: my back healed on its own after surgery being cancelled 8 hours prior
• Everett potty-trained the weekend of the stroke, making one very thick silver lining to the most-insane weekend we’ve ever lived (stroke on Friday the 13th, BYU shut down Saturday, back surgery cancelled Sunday, RE moved back home Monday night) 
• Archer learned to read, and his whole world opened up
• RE left for her mission and is growing into an even more beautiful person, if that’s possible
• No one in either of our immediate families—and that’s 52 parents, siblings, spouses, and nieces/nephews—caught the virus or lost their job this year
• NOT going places has eliminated a lot of stress (I haven't been late to anything!)
• We have slept in soooooooo much
• We swam in our neighborhood pool four times, and boy did we treasure every slot we won
• The boys can legit play and score Yahtzee
• The Mandalorian
• Bike trails
• Our library is still checking books out
• I haven’t gone without the sacrament
• There is plenty of food to buy, and if not, I can make nearly anything from scratch
• I cleaned the temple for two hours in December—after a nine-month absence—and soaked in every minute of serenity
• I purchased new sofas, a chair, and a bed this year; so what if they took an extra 12 weeks 
• Utah had its prettiest fall in years, and I did not waste one day of it
• Our sweet neighbors let my boys trespass to their swing set and trampoline daily; the boys don’t think anything is missing from life
• My stash of hotel soaps has left the building (this has been a multi-year effort for me and I cannot emphasize the elation)
• I got a haircut
• Prime is still averaging 2-day delivery, which is incredible outside of a pandemic and doubly-incredible within one
• I could entertain myself for many more pandemics in my home; inside it I have the means to grow, freelance, exercise, write, sew, school, paint rocks with my boys, make cards, cook, play piano, read, be entertained, worship, soak in the tub, and wander on walks indefinitely
• I've learned time is not my issue for several chores I never accomplish as I've had 9 months to clear my office desk. It's just always going to be heaps of scraps. 

Last, but certainly not least, my favorite kitchen towel. Designed by Primitives by Kathy. Gifted by Michelle, who knows what makes me tick.