I place a pot of simmering water on the stove, and get out two forks and two paring knifes. Even the teenager is interested, and does not resist the chore of peeling, but cannot refrain from complaining about the burnt finger. He would be wise not to complain too loudly, since he is usually the happiest one on spaghetti night in our household.
Little One is drawn to the small fragrant bag and begins the process of picking leaves from stems, making a neat pile. I give him three big cloves of freshly-pulled garlic to peel as well.
An intense hour ensues, with the big man ferrying bowls of now-naked fruit between the two peelers and corers; the food processor makes short order of the batches, and the big stainless pots fill quickly. The compost bucket is nearly overflowing, but these many hands have made truly light work, and it feels very special to all be doing meaningful work together.
The pots go onto the stove to simmer, and while my two big men wipe things down, I help Little One use the food processor to whiz together his labors. He gets the fun of spooning the pesto into an ice cube tray, and the kitchen is starting to smell summer-wonderful.
I dig out the jars and the canning kettle, the rings and the lids. Soon I am ladling the hot summer sun into neat packages for our winter pleasure. Little One stands on a stool to watch them lowered into the bubbling pot. And we all rejoice at the happy 'pling' of sealing jars through the evening.
Righteously content, we have all earned a reward. Some oil in a small pot, a scoop of sugar and a big scoop of popcorn, and we settle down to a good movie with a big bowl of fresh, hot kettle corn.
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