It’s nearing the end of a quiet, still, warm summer day. Its just about 5 p.m. The birds are still chirping, and it’s still light out, but the light is diffused; not so strong as it was just two or three hours ago. Everyone is just getting home from work or the beach, and kids are just pulling up on their bikes after a day out with friends.
And me? Well, I decide to make pickles.
What can I say… it cures what ails me. If I’m stressed or worried or angry, making something helps. When my Nana passed away I basically spent the whole summer pickling. It just kind of helped with the anxiety & grief. Same goes for that weird unsettled feeling. And it just so happens sometimes on really nice summer days… I get unsettled.
Who knows why. Either way, there’s pickles.