My Favourite Season by John Caverhill
Farm life in the late 1930s and early 40s was still closely tied to the seasons. Much of the time in this season was spent preparing for the upcoming season. Autumn, with the conclusion of the growing season, was the ultimate preparation period for the approaching winter. For the farm family, preparing and storing food was one of the most important tasks of the whole year. From late June through October, the farm kitchen, with its tantalizing aromas of food being boiled, baked, fried or roasted, was enhanced by the fragrance of the preserving kettle. Mason jars were still in the future. The glass sealer, with its glass lid resting on a rubber ring held in place by a flat metal band that screwed down to make an airtight seal, was in use for over half a century. Everything was measured in imperial units, so the sealers came in quart and pint sizes. These sealers replaced stoneware canning jars, which were straight-sided, brown and cream jugs with a narrow neck. The neck was plugged with a cork, then sealed with wax. Strawberries started the canning season each year, followed in order by raspberries, cherries and peaches. If berries were plentiful, strawberry and raspberry jam were also made for winter. Mother baked delicious, tender yeasty rolls and one of those rolls hot from the oven, buttered and topped with strawberry jam, made a treat that makes my mouth water when I think of it now. Tomatoes made up the largest proportion of the canned food. Processing them started in mid-August and continued intermittently through September. Some days, the mellow sweetness of simmering tomatoes filled the air; on other days, the tangy aroma of chili sauce tantalized the nostrils, making me think of a mound of mashed potatoes, gravy, and roast pork topped with Mom’s chili sauce. At the end of the season, Mother would pick the green tomatoes that were still clinging to the dried vines to make green chili sauce. The firm green tomatoes were finely chopped before processing, and, as they were not as juicy, the result was more like a relish. It was very tasty, and as a youngster, I preferred the green chili sauce to the red. Whole milk—the only kind we had—added to a jar of tomatoes, heated, and seasoned with salt and pepper made a hearty cold- weather soup. It was served with soda biscuits or my favourite, crispy toasted bread squares sprinkled over the top. At other times, heaps of dark green cucumbers and the sharp pungency of apple cider vinegar dominated the kitchen when you came in from outside, and you knew the winter supply of pickles was being prepared. Mother made the standard sweet pickle of the day, nine-day pickles. Their preparation involves immersing sliced cucumbers in a vinegar brine. We had several large crocks that were used for this purpose. The brine was changed at intervals over the nine-day period before the final canning. The result was a crunchy, tangy, sweet pickle. Mother also made dill pickles, but I always preferred the nine- day pickles. A few Mallard ducks nested in the reeds along the shore, and Red-wing Blackbirds perched and swung gracefully on the tips of taller reeds. During the morning and the evening hours, Great Blue Herons could be seen standing motionless in deeper water, waiting for an unwary fish or frog to come within We also grew lots of beets, which were dug in late fall and stored in bags in the cellar. Half a bushel was made into beet pickles, and a couple of dark red rounds of pickled beet, with their sweet, earthy flavour, added zest and colour to a winter meal. Each Spring the tiny frogs called Spring Peepers furnished a background chorus for the songs of returning birds. Green Leopard Frogs and big Bullfrogs were also plentiful, and Bear Creek’s waters swarmed with tadpoles in late spring and early summer. Box or Painted Turtles would sun themselves on partially submerged logs. Big Snapping Turtles with their formidable beak-like mouths were always treated with great respect. Being so close to its source, Bear Creek at this point was home only to smaller fish such as the silvery fish we called “Shiners”, sunfish, chub and suckers. Crayfish, a small lobster-like shellfish, were also plentiful, and the circular clay “chimneys” that formed the entrances to their burrows were seen everywhere along the creek banks. Big, beautiful Dragonflies zoomed through the air, their iridescent wings flashing in the sunlight, while Water-Striders, using their legs, thrust themselves over the water’s surface. Their long thin bodies are so light they don’t break the surface tension of the water. Mosquitos of course were always present but birds, especially Swallows, kept them under control. flowers we called Marsh Marigolds. Mats of dark green wild mint grew in drier areas, which islets of watercress floated in shallow water pockets close to the shore. The circular, flat leaves of lily pads, along with their beautiful white flower cups, covered the surface of deeper, quiet-water areas.
Sweet corn was also canned and was much like that found in stores today, except that it was thicker and creamier. We had three peach trees, each a different variety that matured at different times. We usually had a good supply of peaches for both immediate consumption and for canning. Late each fall, Dad made a trip to Belmont, where a distant cousin operated a grocery store. A local cheese factory was known for its aged cheddar, and Dad would buy a whole wheel. I remember it as being at least a foot in diameter and over half a foot thick. Wrapped in cheesecloth, it sat on a table in the basement and lasted us most of the winter. A hunk of that mellow but nippy cheddar, combined with the smooth sweetness of the canned peaches, was a treat that never palled and the combination is still a personal favourite to this day. striking range of their long, spear-like bills. Smaller Green Herons would also be fishing for their meals. Herons always give each other a wide berth, never intruding on each other’s fishing space. Bitterns also known locally as “Mudhens” used to be found in dense growth areas. They are extremely wary and almost impossible to see. Standing motionless among the reeds, their streaked plumage blends perfectly with the browns and greens of the surrounding foliage. Making it even more difficult to discern their outline, they stand with their long beaks pointed upwards to match the vertical reed stems. Whenever the voice of a male Bittern drifted up from the creek, you had to stop and listen. It is a truly unique sound, not at all birdlike. Many bird books describe it as “booming”. Oldtimers compared it to a sound made by the wooden pumps that used to be on every farm well, and it does sound more mechanical than birdlike. In addition, there is a break in the middle of the call like that produced by the up-and-down action of a pump handle. One must actually hear the call to truly appreciate its unique quality. Between our house and the cottage next door grew a big pear tree. It produced large, well-formed pears with only two drawbacks; they had almost no taste, and they were so hard your teeth could barely dent them. Dad picked them in late October when the branches were nearly bare of leaves. Now came their transformation. Mother would peel, core and cut the pears into halves. The halves were put into quart sealers which were then filled with a boiling brine of vinegar, sugar, cloves and cinnamon. The jars were set away for a few weeks. When opened, the flavour of those pears was beyond praise. Mom served them as a meat condiment, but I always saved mine until last and ate it like a dessert. It had a sweet-sour, spicy taste and a firm but yielding texture that seemed to melt in your mouth. Those canned pears were the best things I have ever tasted. Like the wood fire that warms you twice – first when cutting and then when burning – the kitchen of a good cook also gives its rewards twice; first in the savoury aromas of good food being prepared, and then in the pleasures of eating that food. “A man hath no better thing under the sun than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry.” Ecclesiastes 8:15 Bear Creek was, and still is, a wonderful place for people of all ages to visit and enjoy and start to learn to appreciate the intricate interconnections of all forms of life in a natural setting.
To advertise here please contact Barb@villagerpublications.com FresH Local Apples b PUMPKINS b SQUASH b SEASONAL PRODUCE Maple Syrup b Apple Cider b APPLE CIDER Vinegar FrFreessHH LoLoccaall Flowers, Plants John Caverhill is the younger son of the late Ernest Caverhill and Susie Boyd of Lobo Township. John’s writings often reflect his experiences and observations of growing up on the family farm, attending the one room school, S. S. No. 7 Lobo (Bear Creek School), and Vanneck United Church. John’s sense of humour and story-telling skills are legendary. His keen observation skills have augmented his repertoire .
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KKD Villager November 2025
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