I could buy all the vegetables I need at any time of year, without a second thought. I live in a place where access to food is no longer a matter of life or death. But somehow, I still find myself standing in my kitchen for hours, surrounded by jars, salt, vinegar, and the fruits of my garden. Why bother?
It goes back to my childhood in post-Soviet Ukraine, in the '90s. If we didn’t can our own food in the summer, we would have nothing to eat when winter came. That’s not an exaggeration. It was survival. We preserved everything - tomatoes, cucumbers, berries, cabbage - because there was no guarantee of fresh food when snow buried everything for months. Canning wasn’t a hobby. It was a necessity.
Fast forward to today. I can walk into a store and buy anything I want, all year round. Fresh vegetables, canned goods from any country, fruits from across the globe. But there’s something about the food I preserve myself that nothing else can match. The taste. The texture. It's not just about the jar - it’s about what goes inside it. The stuff you buy at the store? It's packed with chemicals, preservatives, and additives I don’t even know how to pronounce.
I’d rather spend a whole Saturday afternoon chopping, pickling, and sealing jars, knowing that what I’m putting in there is pure and simple. It’s my way of taking control over what I eat, and trust me, it tastes so much better. When I pop the lid on a jar of tomatoes in winter, I’m not just eating food - I’m eating memories. I’m tasting the warmth of the summer sun, the earthiness of my garden, and the love I poured into that jar.
And let's not forget about the people I share it with. Cooking, for me, is a love language. Whether it’s gifting jars of homemade preserves to friends and family or cooking up a feast, food is my way of showing I care. It’s more than just nourishment - its connection. When I see someone’s face light up after tasting my canned peaches or homemade pickles, that’s everything.
But there’s something deeper, too. I believe in socialism - not just in the political sense, but in the values of community, of taking care of each other. Canning isn’t just about me. It’s about creating something I can share with those around me. It’s about using my strengths and resources to support my community, just like my grandparents did before me.
So yes, I could buy canned food. But I’d rather spend my time doing this old-fashioned, labor-intensive thing that ties me to my roots. It’s not just about preserving food - it’s about preserving who I am, where I come from, and the way I show love. That jar on the shelf? It’s more than just food. It’s a piece of my heart.