Cleaning out the freezer of past-dated food to make way for new offerings from the garden and orchard is a semi-annual task. I find it somewhat embarassing that any of the produce I so lovingly grow and harvest becomes a leather-hard, freezer-burned bag of useless vegetation, good only for the compost heap. But it does happen to most food preservationists. So it is especially rewarding when I invent a creative way to use what otherwise might have ended up as compost.

This year I discovered in the very bottom of the freezer a couple of quarts of whole strawberries that were labeled 2004. Oh my!!! They looked a bit desiccated, but actually smelled OK. But what to do with them? Who knows where inspiration will come from?

I left the berries in the sink for a few hours to thaw. Then I dumped the thawed mushy mass into a saucepan, added about a cup of sugar and slowly brought the mixture to a boil while stirring to disolve the sugar. Once the liquid looked clear, I turned off the burner and let the pan cool. I then poured the pulpy juice into a strainer and was rewarded with a few cups of lovley red strawberry sauce. Ice cube trays are handy kitchen accessories for freezing small quantities of heavily flavored concoctions, such as pesto or strawberry sauce. My "recipe" produced 36 cubes of frozen sauce.

You could no doubt use other berries or peaches to make this fruit sauce, and even add a few spices to make the flavor a bit exotic. I think the sauce will be heavenly over angel food cake or fruit salad, or mixed with some oil and vinegar to make a strawberry vinaigrette.

One of our staff members now lives in and works out of her apartment in New York City. She is fond of sharing her unique restaurant finds while exploring the streets of New York. Last week she told me about Peanut Butter and Co., which serves only nut butter and fruit spread sandwiches — the ultimate PB & Js. Here is their feature sandwich for this week — September 8-14: White Chocolate Wonderful & Blueberry Preserves. Oh, my — I want one — now!!

On Monday, someone suggested that we build a bonfire and have s’mores during our weekly staff meeting — all quite unlikely as we work in an office building surrounded by a parking lot with no fire pits in sight. Being the oldest on staff and therefore officially “Mother,” I was determined to find a way to have s’mores around the conference table if not by a crackling fire. Purchasing the graham crackers was a no-brainer and marshmallow Fluff easily substituted for the real thing. But what to do about the chocolate bars? As I wandered down the PB & J aisle at the grocery store, I happened to notice a new product – Peanut Butter & Co. Dark Chocolate Dreams — oh, yes!!! A sinfully delicious combination of peanut butter and very good chocolate. New York City comes to Topeka, Kan.!

Well, as you can imagine the conference room s’mores were a real hit! And when I go to New York City to visit my granddaughter, I plan to take her out for a gourmet PB & J.

After spending two hours on a canner load of cardamom-spiced pears, I have plenty of other things to do. But until the last lid sucks in its breath with a tenor pop, leaving the kitchen would be like exiting a concert just as you hear the first notes of your favorite song. Why be in a hurry to go?

On the other hand, it does seem that the same power that prevents watched pots from boiling causes lids to pop when you've almost given up. Then comes one, then another, each pop announcing that all is well.

It's the sound of accomplishment, with a strong undercurrent of relief. The food you've grown, harvested, washed, cut, cooked and canned is safe for a couple of years. So what if next season's crop comes up short? This year's bounty is in the can.

Some may argue that the bigger thrill comes when you open a jar of tomatoes or grape jelly or whatever in January and smell summer for one brief moment. I disagree. The gentle whoosh of a seal opening is nothing compared to the cracking pop of a lid closing itself to the outside world. What a wonder, to be able to cook now and eat a year later. Each pop says that it is done.  

I have a suggestion you won't find in canning books: home canners should listen to lids popping as a rewarding ritual to be observed as each batch is set aside to cool. Simply sit for five minutes, giving yourself over to one of the more wondrous sounds of a self-sufficient life. When you take the time to listen, each pop brings a spurt of joy.