Sweet satisfaction

We're stocking up, and it shows.

Witness our basement -- I regret to say we have no cellar -- where most of one wall is lined with row upon row of jars filled with chicken stock, tomato sauce, South Americans, strawberry jam and honey.

Witness our poor, overused canner, which has been chugging away nearly nonstop in the kitchen for the past few weekends.

And witness the freezer, crammed full of fresh chickens, chunks of pesto, extra tomatoes, strawberries and a few precious cups of wild blueberries. In the fridge are jars of homemade maple syrup, a box of carrots and cartons of eggs. A bag of potatoes and a basket of squash round out our harvest.

It's sort of been an accident, having all this food socked away. But when you have a 50-pound bucket of honey, a dozen productive tomato plants and 25 chicken carcasses, you really have no other choice. You've got to start simmering and stewing, canning and storing, boiling jars and filling shelves.

Our harvest looks like enough to feed a family of 14, not just the two of us. And there's so much satisfaction in having done it ourselves.

We raised those chickens and picked those tomatoes and tapped those maple trees. We know just where that food came from, and it's an honest, real place.

Every vegetable gardener recognizes this emotion. Every farmer must feel it. Because these days you don't go to all the trouble of growing any kind of food without valuing that feeling.

You don't do it to save money. Factor in the cost of building a chicken coop and fence along with buying the feed, the ax, the canner and even the jars. Each batch of that delicious homemade stock cost a wing and a leg. You've heard of the $64 tomato? How about the $164 chicken?

It also takes a lot of time -- hours of chopping and washing and learning to get over your fear of a canner bulging with pressurized steam. Chilly October days are meant for long walks and reading books, not plucking chickens. But your chickens have to be plucked.

Most people don't need to set by the summer's bounty so they won't go hungry in winter. If you need chicken stock, you go to the store and buy a carton. If you need spaghetti sauce, same deal. The grocers aren't likely to run out.

And even if you wanted to, how many people have space to grow their food? If you live in an apartment, where would the chickens sleep? In the bathtub?

We don't have to know much about our food anymore, we don't have to have a real connection with what we eat. But once you start, it's hard to stop.

You start to cherish that little bit of self-sufficiency, the few minutes each day spent gathering eggs or picking lettuce and tomatoes. You love tugging open each jar of stock or sauce, prying under the lid with your fingernails until the seal breaks with a tiny hiss. It feels good to dip a spoon into the jar of honey that your bees made from wildflowers that grew right outside your door.

So I've been thinking we can do a little more out here in Embarrass.  Maybe raise a few goats. Maybe a pig. Perhaps a field of wheat.

Maybe a wheat field would be a bit much.  But I'm guessing that next fall the canner will be boiling on the stovetop just a little longer because there will be more stocking up to do.

JANNA GOERDT can be reached at (218) 279-5527, or by e-mail at jgoerdt@duluthnews.com .