"Pickling Therapy "

"Pickle Therapy "

Greg Budig 2020

The soil has been turned.

Cucumbers planted. 

Looking dwarfed by the 

trellis that looms high above. 

Fragile plants in foreign 

soil. Watering and 

pampering, waiting for 

them to take hold. 

In a matter of days their 

true leaves appear. 

Soon they are growing,

reaching to the sky. 

Crawling up the trellis, 

inching towards the sun. 

Slender tendrils like 

fingers grab hold and climb.

And then there are flowers,

bright yellow and full. 

The progression of growth 

has gone out of control!

Reaching out to the blue 

summer sky, an amazing 

transformation in a span 

of a few weeks. 

Cucumbers emerge so fragile 

and small.  Dainty, warted,

growing full overnight. 

Search through the foliage,

finding the perfect fruit.

Amazed at the size that 

 some have obtained. 

Soon it's time to begin. 

Water, vinegar and salt. 

Together they make up 

the brine. Simmered on 

the stove top, then left to 

cool.  Ready to be poured,

filling the kitchen with a 

pungent yet comforting 

smell. A tradition continued. 

Sterilized jars are filled 

with garlic cloves and 

fresh dill. Aromatics of 

a traditional ritual. 

Cucumbers packed in

strategic order, filling 

each cranny and nook. 

A perfect alignment is made. 

Peppercorns and bay leaves,

more garlic and dill. 

Added the the tightly packed 

jar. Then covered with 

brine and firmly closed 

tight. Covers and rings 

locked in place. Time for 

process to begin. 

They are to sit on the counter 

for at least three long days. 

And then placed in the 

refrigerator for another 

week more. Who came up 

with this timeframe is a 

mystery to me. But I 

follow the instructions I see. 

Pickling therapy, a tradition 

continued.  Rooted in 

something my ancestors 

once did.  A comforting 

process, a link to the past. 

Something to be remembered. 

Something good for the body. 

Something good for the soul. 

The End