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Blogs / A Walk In The Park / August 2009 / Goggles and Pearls

Goggles and Pearls

When the alarm went off at 6 a.m., I grumbled to my husband, "I don't want to can tomatoes!"

I'm not a real ranch wife like Julie," I whined, pulling the pillow over my head. "I'm a complete imposter!"

Next, before I'd even had coffee, there was a perky knock on the front door. It was my neighbor and good friend, Julie, who, amongst many other things, is a put-the-sleeves-up-let's-get-to-work ranch woman transplanted to Park City. I had a bushel of tomatoes from our local CSA, Zoe's Garden. Julie had her killer salsa recipe, roasted chiles and peppers, and a can-do attitude. We were going to make salsa happen.

To get us in the domestic mood, Julie brought a special treat: a box of vintage aprons that had belonged to her Grandma Tina. The parade of aprons not only entertained us, but made us wonder what the stories were behind each one. There was a checkered apron, a rickrack apron, a silky smooth luncheon apron with flowers on it, a frilly pink number that must have been for cocktail hour, an American flag waist apron (for July Fourth barbecues?), a full-body gingham variety and more. We chose a few to wear, and then donned pearls too, because we'd recently gone to see and adored the movie "Julie and Julia" about Julia Child's life, and her propensity for wearing pearls while she was sweating over something bubbling on the stove.

The water in the big ol' pot on my stove was boiling. A bowl of ice water sat in the sink, a dusty cardboard box of tomatoes on the counter. We began the work of the day. We boiled, skinned, sliced and blended tomatoes, red pulpy juice splashing on the stainless steel in my kitchen, the waning heat of August and the sweet smell of autumn all mixed together in the morning air.

Then we donned our swim goggles. That's right. Swim goggles. This is a trick Jules taught me a few years ago. If you wear goggles while chopping onions, your eyes won't water. I swear to god, it works. You look like an idiot, and you get goggle marks all over your face, but it works. Trust me on this one.

I didn't care about looking goofy. This was a big day for me, in a quiet way. I had surgery a month ago - a mastectomy, actually - to remove a tumor and any chance of it ever coming back. The use of my right arm and shoulder has been compromised for weeks. Every day it has slowly been feeling better, more mobile, less sore, but on salsa canning day, my arm rose to the occasion and seemed to come back to life in full force. So did I. It was a day to get back to normal. A day to embrace silliness, with the goggles and the pearls and the aprons. A day to take advantage of the moment - the tomatoes are ripe - the harvest is here - and a day to do something that shows I have faith in the future - because I do. So I make something delicious now that I will put away in the cupboard for weeks, or months, and pull out to share with friends at some cozy autumn brunch, or a loud, crowded Christmas party, or a quiet night by the fire when the snow is falling outside. So with joy and relief, both for being healthy and for being able to move around freely again, I rustled the dry skins off garlic cloves; I chopped onions with precision; and I stirred and stirred again the beautiful mix of tomatoes, garlic, peppers, chiles and onions simmering in a silver pot, cooking down to a smoky richness.

The hours flew by as Julie and I drank coffee, boiled jars and lids, stood over steaming water baths and conferred on everything from whether we had enough brown sugar in our mixture, to how our sons' first week of school was going, to how she was coping with the death of her Mom this year, to how badly I felt about a fight I'd had with my sister, to how we wished we were better housekeepers, or more organized in general, but couldn't stop wanting to go bike riding or fly-fishing instead.

Like the ingredients of the salsa coming together, the sound of our voices blended with the sound of knives chopping on wooden cutting boards, the hiss of the gas stove, water bubbling. And finally, the sweet sound of success: the "pop!" of the jar lids sealing our precious concoction, which we've dubbed "Goggles and Pearls Salsa."

Note to Readers: NOW is the time in Park City for perfectly ripe peaches, tomatoes and so much more - get thee to one of our farmers' markets (at The Canyons on Wednesday; The Yard on Friday; Park Silly Market on Sunday) or get some extra goods from your CSA this week!

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