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A Senior Remembers: Secrets of the Root Cellar

root cellar

A typical root cellar – John A. Harris photo.

I am halfway down the stairs, feeling each step with my foot before I go down further, since the flashlight beam doesn’t go very far. Suddenly it goes out, and I am in complete blackness! I look up quickly. The kitchen lamp sends a wash of light over a few of the top stairs, but the middle stairs are dark.  I strain to see April’s face. Where is she? Mum told her to stay there, at the entrance to the cellar, until I was finished getting the potatoes.

“April!” I yell. I don’t know how long I can stay here, with the dark around me, and the creatures who are probably hiding behind the shelves. “Apriiiiil!” I yell louder, and her head pops up from the edge.

“What’s wrong?” She is not the one in this dangerous place, so of course, she doesn’t sound worried.  I tell her that the flashlight went out and I can’t see anything. I hear her make a little sound, and suddenly she is gone! When she pops up again, she says,

“Mum says to give it a shake. It will come back on.”  I try that, and sure enough, it comes back on, and I go on to the bottom of the stairs, and finally step onto the cool, dusty floor.

I’ve never been here alone before. Only with Mum and June, my older sister, and that was to quickly dump some potatoes into the bins, or to carry some jars and place them on the shelves. Those times, I held my breath until I finished my job, and I could usually get back up into the kitchen before I had to take another gulp of air. This time I feel braver. It must be because I just had my 12th birthday, and was now almost a grown up. I look around, and take a deep breath; the air smells wonderful! I wave the flashlight beam slowly around the whole cellar, starting at the bin with the cabbages, then the turnips and beets, then the potatoes. I send the beam steadily over the jars of fruit, and then down to the floor over the crocks of pickles and the jugs beside them.

There is so much food!  I get a feeling of happiness as I wave the light over the shelves again. I think back to the summer, when my mother and June, my older sister, and I worked in the garden all day, digging up the vegetables that grew in the ground, piling them in gunny sacks, and dragging them to a wagon, then on into the house.  I remembered the sound of the potatoes plopping into the bins, and the softer sound as we dumped the cabbages in another bin. This year, all of the vegetables, and especially the cabbages were round and fat looking, and smelled so new and fresh!

I send the beam of light over the hundreds of jars of fruit and meat. Last summer was beautiful and hot. Every day, all through August and September, Mum would light the fire under the barrel drum in the yard, and put the big canner with water up to the brim on top. When the water was boiling hot, she would carefully lower the rack with the jars into the water and let it stay there for a while. This year Mum and June let me help cut the fruit and stuff it into the jars. Once she even let me pour the warm syrup until it reached the brim. I feel so proud and happy when I see all of them here in shining rows on the shelves.

Then I look at the jars of chicken and barley soup. It makes me a little sad when I remember that just a little while ago, the chickens were scratching around in the yard, clucking and having lots of fun, and now they are in the jars on the shelves. But I feel better when I remember that we need to eat them for our sandwiches and suppers.  And the chicken soup is nourishing, Mum says, and filled with vitamins that will help us stay healthy all winter. Last of all, I look at the rows of pickles and the jam made from the cucumbers and peaches from town and the berries we picked. And there was something else I could hardly recognize. “Oh yes”, I remember, “Those are the jars of  choke cherries, June’s big idea to can those awful things. I look closer, and can see that they have turned brown instead of staying purple. I remember how she kept adding sugar until Mum told her not to waste so much on them.”They even look ugly”, I think. “No one will ever eat those!”

“Dinah!” I hear Mum call out to me, “Get back up here! I need those potatoes to start making supper.” The flashlight is still on. I have been down here so long I am surprised it didn’t go out. I better get up fast, I think, or Mum and June will say I’ve been daydreaming again. But I haven’t—I’ve only been thinking, and remembering.

19 thoughts on “A Senior Remembers: Secrets of the Root Cellar”

  1. This entry elicits such warm memories! My Grandmother had a root cellar, living in the country, and my Mom had one, living on our farm. My Grandmother filled her root cellar with fruit from the farm we lived on, and with wild fruit that she gathered from the bush and fields around her home on the Canadian Shield. One of our favourites was Chokecherry Jelly! On the farm we canned peaches, cherries, and plums; we made jams; we froze vegetables in the huge chest freezer. All of the produce came from our farm. There were bins of potatoes, onions, and other root vegetables in the root cellar as well. I don’t think I will ever get used to supermarket vegetables! They are not the same.

    These days I don’t do much in the way of hot water bath canning. I do have a pressure canner, and can beans and vegetables, although I have not tried meat yet. We hope that we can grow in our yard, enough vegetables to can, or freeze for the year. We also make our own chili sauce and mincemeat.

    Food preservation is a lot of fun!

    1. Still the Lucky Few

      Chokecherry jelly! I know some people loved it, but it was never my favorite, as you can tell.In reading your comment, I am reminded that we also stored onions and canned plums as well, two I missed. Loved your comment, Maggie!

  2. Ellouise Schoettler

    Thanks so much for this vivid trip to your childhood. I have never been in a root cellar – but as a child I have been to the basement alone and you brought to life my forgotten scared feelings that often went with going down into the dark. Really appreciate how you take your readers to your places.

    1. Still the Lucky Few

      I am always flattered to receive praise from you, Ellouise! Taking readers to our places is what we strive to do, as you know.

  3. the gift you have is literally making us feel what you feel.
    when the light went out i could FEEL it!
    though i’m sure i’ve never been in a root cellar in all my life.
    i have been in many a tornado storm cellar! does that count? LOLOL.
    somehow i doubt it. not in the least comforting.
    and you’re only down there because your house is probably blowing away upstairs!
    now if one were stocked with lovely fresh food… like yours… 🙂

    1. Still the Lucky Few

      I am happy I have been spared the experience of hovering in a storm cellar as a tornado storms overhead! Now that would be scary! Thanks for your very welcome comment, tammy j

  4. Your post certainly drew a serene rural picture. Quite lovely.

    You must forgive my ignorance since I grew up in a NYC apartment where DelMonte, Bumblebee, and Campbells, among others, did all the preserving so I have trouble picturing a jar of chicken. Did you boil them and slice the meat, or are there bones in the jar too? No head, I hope. I ask because that was the first thing my imaginatin conjured up. The butchers in my neighborhood often had whole, cleaned chickens, head and all hanging in the window, and that’s what I pictured initially.

    1. Still the Lucky Few

      The chickens were canned with the bone in, I think, and not whole, but in large pieces. Isn’t curious that I can’t remember for sure? But I know my mother didn’t have the skill to de-bonme them beforehand. And no, heads were detached. Yikes! What a thought! Love your comments, Virginia. Thanks.

  5. As I read your story I could almost smell all the fruits and vegetables and other foods that you describe. Good job!

  6. Our neighbors had a spring house, along the banks of Morning Star Creek, they dairy farmed, I recall the cold, cream topped milk in crocks, and the rows of canning. All gone now, thanks for reviving a fond memory.

    1. Still the Lucky Few

      Spring house sounds so much more appealing than a root cellar! I remember cream topped milk as well. The milk man used to bring it to our homes. Now that’s a distant memory!

  7. I loved your story–you’re a wonderful writer. I grew up in town–close to a neighborhood grocery–but all of our farm family friends had root cellars…or so it seemed. My late in-laws lived on a farm in Southwest Oklahoma, and they had a root cellar about twenty feet or so from their house. They still kept potatoes and onions there, and a few jars of corn or beans but it was primarily used as a tornado shelter. After they told me about finding snakes in the shelter from time to time, I took my chances above ground when the skies turned black. Thank you for sharing your memories.

    1. Still the Lucky Few

      It’s wonderful that you do canning. I thought it was a lost art! Although I think that some members of my family make their own jams and jellies. And they are better than anything you can buy!

  8. My mom grew up on a farm. When I was in high school, in California, my mom used to can fruits from our trees, and some fruit she would trade off with the family across the street, who grew fruit different than ours. We had no celler and my mom used a pressure cooker. One day I came home from school, and there were plum all over the ceiling and all around. The cooker had flipped its lid. Thankfully, my mom wasn’t in the kitchen, when it happened. My mom made the best cobblers from the fruit she canned. I especially loved her opeach cobler. I enjoyed your story. Thank you.

    1. Still the Lucky Few

      Your mother’s background is similar to my own. Life was filled with work, but there was lots of satisfaction, and more than enough love to go around! Thank you, Kanani, for adding to the wonderful comments on this story!

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