It’s not a secret that I’m a huge Zac Brown Band fan. When they came out with the album that had songs from multiple genres a few years ago I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled. It included some good music, just not my favorite ZBB sound. Back in May, they released a new album, Welcome Home, and they returned right back to the ZBB style that I fell for probably 10 years ago. I’m a sucker for nostalgia…not in a sad or sappy way, I just appreciate origins and the things that shape the people we become…which is strange since history bores me to tears. And this album did not disappoint!

Spontaneous plans are almost always a pleasant surprise for my family. We don’t have time to stress over the details or be anxious about the what ifs. I’d be lying if I said that we are naturally spontaneous though…we are planners. Ok, I’m the planner and I don’t like my (our) schedule to be jacked around. (“C’mon Coach! Set practice. If it rains, call it a day. Don’t try to add a scrimmage for tonight! The schedule for the week is set on Sunday. Get with the program. Don’t make me yell!”) I digress…

Y’all know about The 5 Love Languages, right? (If not, get out from under that rock you’re living under and Google it, mmm-k?) Well, of course The Hubs and my love languages aren’t exact. We span across 2-3 each so that’s fun. However, if y’all haven’t heard, there’s actually a 6th Love Language. My MaMa Lillian came up with the 6th because she exemplified it…I know, you’re asking yourself “what in the world could Chapman have left out of this NY Times best seller???” Glad you asked. Food. MaMa Lillian’s love language was food. She fed people. Lots of people. People she knew, people she didn’t. People she loved. Church people. Family. Friends. Friends of family. Family of friends. She fed us and she fed us well. I said many times that food was her ministry.

We lived up the hill from my maternal grandparents and 10 minutes from my paternal grandparents. And damn, my grandmas could cook. (I’d be in trouble with MaMa Opal for saying it like that but MaMa Lillian and I would have giggled). I should have paid WAY more attention. WAY MORE. Both sets of grands had HUGE gardens…beans, tomatoes, corn, greens, potatoes, beets, onions…I can’t even remember what all they grew! Every summer, Momma and my aunt (who both taught school) and sometimes my other aunts and uncles depending on the day of the week and their work schedule, would descend upon my grandparents’ home and the day would be spent freezing or canning the vegetable or fruit of the day. As a child, I remember sitting under the weeping willow breaking beans. “You’re too little to string them, Honey” they’d say. And the women would be in the kitchen standing over the pressure canner. And at the end of the day they’d stand exhausted, gazing at the seemingly endless cans on the counter and tell one another how “purdy” their cans turned out. ❤️

Fast forward a few (or several) years…I married a man whose mother’s love language is exactly that of MaMa Lillian..food. She may be known for her cakes because she slices the layers horizontally and makes a 3 layer cake Italian Cream Cake into a 6 layer Italian Cream Cheese cake because duh, if 3 layers of cream cheese icing and pecans is good, 6 is better. In addition to food, my MIL’s love language is gifts. She’s very thoughtful in her gift giving. And she knows how I love good food. So for the past several years, she has canned me tomatoes (because she knew I loved my grandma’s macaroni and tomatoes and you can NOT make them with grocery store canned tomatoes (and don’t even start with me in the comments…you can’t, the end)). So she canned tomatoes and green beans for me and toward the end of summer when we’d visit one another there would be a case of one or both for my family. That’s love, people. Canning ain’t easy. And when you do it, you sure don’t give that shit away…unless your love language (or the person you’re loving on) is food. And if she couldn’t or didn’t have time to can, she’d find someone and buy them for us.

I feel like I should throw in that The Hubs has this weird allergy. It’s called oral allergy syndrome (yes, even Google is aware) and it’s a little strange (or maybe I like to pick on him because I have way more quirks and thus he has more material to work with so I have to use what I’ve got!). Anyhoo, he has terrible seasonal allergies and because of this, his body sees things like peaches, apples, pears, cherries and green beans as the enemy. His body thinks these things are pollen. And if you look at them under a microscope in their raw state, they look like pollen BUT cooking changes the molecular structure such that his body is ok with them. Soooooo, I can’t snap beans in the house and we don’t ask Daddy to peel apples in our house. With that said, we love these things. The fruits don’t bother him in the house but his momma burned a pot of beans one time (probably the only time ever) when he was a teen and he had to stay with his grandparents for 3 days. No bean snapping in our house.

This year, she can’t find the beans and her shoulder won’t let her can them (darn rotator cuff). Enter Nana D. Momma (Nana) has heard me talk about how canning is becoming such a lost art for so many years…how I’d like to learn but I can’t can green beans at my house even if I learn…wondering if I could do it…. and this year, 2017, she called my bluff!!! “I’ve heard you talk about it long enough! I’m gonna teach you to can!” Then, to be sure that we weren’t barking up the wrong tree, she bought a bushel of beans and a canner and she proved to herself that she’s still got it. (And I have a photo slideshow to prove it.)

The Boy and The Girl play baseball and softball most of the summer, there are vacations and all the summer stuff to do, and frankly we usually only have maybe 2-3 weekends not spoken for every summer. Well, Nana’s timing was impeccable. She said “why don’t you and The Boy come see us this weekend and we will can you some beans? I’ll teach you.” The Girl was at the beach with a friend and The Hubs had a major house project in the works but was to the point that none of us could really help him other than be here for moral support. And Nana had my youngest niece (who is hysterically funny) so The Boy and I threw caution to the wind, threw my empty quart jars in the car and put Sandy (my car) in the wind! Let the adventure begin!! If only I had a scarf and some retro sunglasses and a convertible…in my mind that’s what he and I looked like pulling out of suburbia anyway!

Papa is the King Stringer and Nana had 7 cans done and 7 more in the canner when I got there…out of 2 bushels of beans. She said she’s was worried about me being a little overwhelmed but I think she was just that excited about the fact that she’s still got it and couldn’t help herself or she was just showing off. Whatever. I have canned beans and only had to really can a bushel out of the 2+ they bought. So, she can show off or get excited or whatever she so chooses. Home canned green beans, people. I will not judge the motive. The pressure canner does intimidate me a little, I’m not gonna lie. Making sure the jars don’t touch, basically staring at that jiggler (it’s actually called a weight but I call it what my grandma called it) for 25 minutes making sure it doesn’t wobble too much but doesn’t stop altogether, letting it sit until it’s time to open the lid…I WAS worried about not doing the steps in the right order. But Nana was there to swoop in and fix it, encourage me (basically tell me that I won’t blow up the house) and tell me all the little things I need to know. We talked about canning other things, how you have to have an eye for jelly making and some people just don’t have it (MaMa Lillian had it), what you can do in a bath and what needs to be in the pressure canner, what is worth it and what is not. And on this subject, I still hold true to my belief that if you’re gonna can beets you might as well can damn dirt ’cause that’s what they taste like! Nana D and I agree to disagree on this one…she loves those nasty ole things!

All total, we canned 48 quarts from about 2 1/2 bushels of beans. (Nana has probably 14 or 21 done when I got there.) My family may beg me NOT to make beans by the time the winter rolls through but I don’t care! Heck, I’ll take them to pot lucks if I have to! (I might get invited to pot lucks when word gets out, Y’all!) And when we were done, after every 7 that came out of the canner we talked about how purdy they were. And I gained a level of understanding of the process that I didn’t realize existed. You work your ass off (and everyone around you does too) so you’re damn sure not going to call those babies ugly! And when the first ones that I did all by myself came out of the canner, my momma said “Look what YOU did! It’s the first ones you did by yourself!” She was as excited as I was (maybe even a little more)! I can do this. I can preserve my own good food. This could make life a little easier. I can feed my family food that’s healthy and I can take pride in the fact that I helped put up enough beans for the year. Hard work never hurt anybody. And it sure feels good when it’s something for my family! I’m starting to understand that 6th language.

The Boy and The Little Niece were running around playing and giggling and eating ice cream and watching The Trolls Movie four times over the course of the weekend. And I was transported back to a time when I was the one running around under the weeping willow breaking beans (both Boy and Niece took turns breaking and Boy helped wash and I even let him help pack some cans). Even though my grandmas have been gone 12 and 10 years, I was a grandchild again and learning one of my grandmothers’ many crafts all while gaining a deeper appreciation for the work that went into feeding their families over the course of the year from their summer and fall gardens. My Momma was The Grandmother teaching the craft in her kitchen while The Littles were underfoot. I was 100 miles from where I grew up and 200 from my own home and yet I was standing right there amid my roots in my momma’s and the kids’ Nana’s kitchen. And it was nothing shy of breathtaking.

I would be amiss if I didn’t tell you that Papa (my Daddy) lost a dear, dear friend on Friday to a heart attack at the age of 67. His friend was quite possibly the funniest person I have ever known. Momma and Daddy vacationed with this couple in NYC (more like adventured than vacationed), Daddy worked with him for 40+ years with both of them leaving the Winston-Salem division to go to Charlotte when it was their only choice to stay with the company they had worked for for over 20 years, their beach houses were down the street from one another or their campers stored in the same campground, they talked about traveling when Daddy retired (the other 3 were already either semi or fully retired…Papa is the baby of the bunch and almost there). My Daddy and Momma needed The Boy, Littlest Niece, each other (of course) and even me this weekend. See, when my parents love, they love hard. They don’t love just one person or a couple, they love entire families and friends. They meet and keep up with children and grandchildren. I know my most of parents’ friends and I can tell you something about their children because when they love, the love hard and wide. Losing someone they love is hard. It always is. Thank God for giggling two year olds and for times to reminisce about simpler times about parents and childhoods, be it mine or theirs. So while my parents were hurting, they were living life to the fullest, which is exactly what their friend did EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. even if that meant canning beans and taking grands to get ice cream.

As I drove home tonight and Nana and Papa drove back to our hometown to pay their respects and hug their friends, The Boy and I were listening to a favorite playlist and ZBB’s song, Roots, came across the speakers.

Their music creates beautiful imagery of how our roots are a grounding force so strong that no matter the physical distance, our roots bring us back to our center, to our home. And after repeating multiple times the age old adage “What don’t kill you only makes you stronger” they change the last line into the most beautiful realization, “What don’t kill you only gives you stronger roots.”

Here’s to loving hard, treasured friends, belly laughs, ice cream, new little bean breakers, graduating from breaker to the kitchen crew, realizing you haven’t forgotten a lost art and to making at least the occasion visit, no matter our physical location, to our roots. May they only make us stronger.

Ben Simonetti / Coy Bowles / Niko Moon / Zachry Brown (2017) Roots (Recorded by Zac Brown Band). On Welcome Home. Southern Ground/Elektra Records (2017)