Pickled Eggs and Bread and Butters

         I’m not good at anything, Jenny thought, leaning against the porch pillar.  She’d spent months trying to bake and quilt like her sisters but all she’d done was make a big mess.  “Find something you’re good at!” they’d said, exasperated. 

         “What’s the trouble, darlin’?” asked a kindly voice behind her.  Grandma patted the seat of the porch swing. 

         Jenny sighed, “I’m ten now and I can enter a contest at the fair, but I’m not good at anything.”

         “Everyone’s good at something,” Grandma comforted. 

         “Not me,” Jenny insisted.  “I just can’t do anything right,” she concluded, dropping her chin into her hands.

         Grandma didn’t say anything; she just rocked the swing and patted Jenny’s back.  At length she sighed.  “I have an idea, but it will take lots of work.”

         Jenny trained her anxious eyes on Grandma’s face.  “I’ll do anything to enter a contest at the fair.”

         “Then we have to start right away,” Grandma said. 

         Jenny jumped up from the swing.  “What do I do?”

         “Go down in the cellar and find my boxes of old canning jars.”

         Jenny crept down the cellar stairs and gingerly reached through the cobwebs to pull the chain for the light.  She finally found three dusty boxes of canning jars in the corner and took them to the porch.  Grandma inspected them carefully.  “These will do just fine,” she said, pulling a slip of paper from the last jar.  “And here’s the recipe I want.”

         Jenny looked at the yellowed paper.  “Pickled eggs and bread and butter?” she read.  “What’s that mean?”

         Grandma’s laugh sounded like music.  “These are my own prize-winning pickle recipes,” she explained.

         “You won contests, too?” Jenny asked.

         “Sure did,” Grandma said proudly.  “I entered these every year.  They’re Grandpa’s favorites.”

         Jenny was eager to start.

         “We have to wash the jars, pick the vegetables, gather eggs from the henhouse, and make sure we have the rest of the ingredients.”

         Jenny raised her eyebrow and bit her lip, but then she imagined winning a ribbon and her excitement returned.

         “Let’s go to the garden first,” Grandma suggested, tying her bonnet.

         “What are you two up to?” Jenny’s mother asked, bringing a colander of fresh-picked peas to the porch.

         “We’re making something for the fair!” Jenny answered, grabbing the basket from beneath the porch swing.  The cucumbers were just the right size and she filled the basket as Grandma watched.  Jenny grasped the leaves of a red beet and pulled as hard as she could.  As the root broke free from the soil, she sprawled backward into the radish patch and laughed.  Grandma laughed too.

         Soon Jenny had ten large red beets and four plump yellow onions balanced atop the cucumbers.

         “You wash the vegetables with the hose and I’ll start on the jars,” Grandma said.  Grandma looked over the ingredients.  “Something’s missing,” she said.

         “Eggs!” Jenny remembered.  “We need eggs.”

         Grandma nodded as Jenny disappeared through the back screendoor, letting it snap shut with a Bang!  They spent the afternoon slicing vegetables and mixing spices.  While the cucumbers and onions rested in their ice water bath, they hardboiled the eggs and sliced the red beets.

         “Sure smells good in here,” Mother said, peeking in; Grandma shooed her away with a smile. 

         Jenny stood on a chair to stir the large kettle as Grandma scooped the cucumber slices into the syrupy mixture.  “Drop a clove of garlic into each jar,” she instructed.

         When the bread and butter pickles had come to a boil Grandma helped Jenny ladle them into the prepared jars.  They wiped the rims, adjusted the lids, and put them into a hot water bath to seal.

         Jenny shelled the eggs as the pickles cooled.  Two gallon-sized jars were soon filled with deep purple beets, onion slices, hardboiled eggs, and pickling liquid.  “These need to rest in the refrigerator.  Jenny stretched her arms around one jar and headed for the cellar.

         “Is that what I think it is?” Grandpa asked, coming in from the field.

         Jenny nodded and smiled but kept going.  Now she only had to wait.

         The fair was one week away when Grandma said the pickles were ready.  Before Father and Grandpa came in from the field, she prepared a tray of pickles and red beet eggs to accompany their lunch.

         “These are the best pickles ever,” Grandpa exclaimed, “and the most beautiful eggs.”  Jenny’s face flushed with pride. 

         On the morning the fair opened she tied her braids with red ribbons and put on her crisp red and white gingham dress.

         “Today’s the big day,” Betty said, displaying her new quilt.

         Jenny nodded.

         “Today’s the big day,” Martha greeted, taking a fresh-baked pie from the oven.

         Jenny nodded and showed them her jars of pickles topped with gingham and tied with matching ribbons.  The girls rode to the fair in the back of Grandpa’s pickup, carefully holding their contest entries.

         “What have we here?” asked one of the judges as Jenny placed her jars on the table.

         “Pickled eggs and bread and butters,” she replied.

         “Mmm.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had pickled eggs,” he exclaimed.  “Is there a category for these, Joe?”  Jenny’s shoulders slumped sadly.  “Oh, don’t you worry, little missy, we’ll find a place for ‘em,” he reassured.

         Jenny spent the day riding her favorite rides but couldn’t get the contest out of her mind.  At 4:00pm they returned to the contest area.  Martha won a blue ribbon for her blackberry pie.  Betty won a red ribbon for her quilt.  The announcer finally came to the pickles.  Jenny sighed as the list concluded without her name.

         “Just a moment folks,” he continued as the crowd began to disperse.  “One entry deserves special recognition.”  He called Jenny to the platform and presented her with a big yellow ribbon with streamers that read ‘Honorable Mention’.  “Next year we’ll have a category for these wonderful pickled eggs,” he said with a wink.  “I’m sure you’ll take first place then!”


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