Why do we call the process of preserving food in jars canning?

Why not jarring?

These are the questions Tyler and I asked each other in our canning delirum at one in the morning.

The weekend was planned as a venison canning weekend. And it was. The last of the 64 pints are in the canner as I type.

Of course had we not found so many other things to do we’d be done already and we’d have skipped the delirium last night.

But where’s the fun in that?

The first set back in the canning progress was that Sarah and I have never been brillant about rationing time spent together.  That history is a whole post that involves two countries, too much Diet Coke and a lot of tears, so I won’t go into it here. I’ll just say we saw each other, it was fun, and I probably should have been canning.

Then after staying up canning until delirium set in last night Tyler took me grouse hunting this morning.

I recommend hunting with Tyler.

Today he was my guide/Sherpa/driver/child sitter/dog handler.

While I did see a grouse and lots of track this morning I didn’t get a shot off , but I’ll forgive my guide/Sherpa/driver/child sitter/dog handler, he had his hands full.