The other day when I was tightening up the 25th jar of pickles I started daydreaming. My thoughts left reality and made it far away in time and distance.
I was back in our summerhouse, where being a kid I spent every summer. It was the end of the season and I was six or seven years old again. There were two best things in my young summer life then: cucumbers and pickles.
As soon as cucumber plants started fruiting I would start my hunt. I tried to get up before my grandparents and sneak into our greenhouse to see what has changed there overnight. Depending on the day I would either fill the pockets or even a plastic bag with little fresh crunchy cukes.
If it was a lucky day and I managed to find more than just a couple that I could consume right at the scene of a crime, I would then grab some salt and climb on the barn roof, where grandma could get me and couldn鈥檛 take away my trophies. If I had enough time I would grab a big jug of water to rinse the cucumbers. If not I just had to keep in mind that a good portion of the day I would spend in the bathroom.
We all have different taste. But for me, there was only one thing that was better than fresh cucumbers. Grandma鈥檚 pickles. Not very spicy, a little bit sweet, with a bit of salt and a lot of dill and garlic. That is still one of my favourite flavours. It is the flavour that helps me travel through the times and become a happy kid again. That鈥檚 the flavour that every time turns the real world around and makes me feel safe, loved, free and reckless.
Every summer after a few weeks of just eating cucumbers grandma would say that it was the time to get ready for winter and start canning. And as much as I loved pickles for some reason I still kept playing my game trying to get as many cukes out of the greenhouse.
The most difficult part about pickles was patience. Even though grandma always made a few litres of half-sour dill pickles to satisfy my cravings, I always tried to get into her pickle supplies before they were even ready.
For my birthday every year, grandma made a special jar of 鈥渆mbryos鈥� 鈥� tiny cucumbers she would take off the plants in the fall right before ripping them out. They were the best (and up to these days I get my jar when I come home). I think I only once managed to share that jar with someone. It always was my treasure...
All of a sudden my daydreams ended and I again was in the kitchen just holding that jar of pickles I made by grandma鈥檚 receipt.
We have a big nice garden here where I can have all the vegetables I want. Since the very first year, I started planting cucumbers, allowing myself those time travels. When I picked my first harvest, I phoned grandma to make sure that I鈥檒l be able to get that flavour. With her strict and detailed directions, I made my first jar of pickles. It was just right. I was proud, happy and in that childhood heaven again.
You know how when we are kids we think that adults are so lucky because they can buy as many candies or chips as they want. And we promise ourselves that when we grow up, we鈥檒l, first of all, have all the sweets in the world. Well, that childhood perception did come true for me. I think I made over 50 jars of pickles that year.
For the first time, I had as many cucumbers and pickles as I wanted. I felt like kids or dogs in movies who find themselves surrounded by their best treats. After many kilos, I finally stopped. And right away I got worried that the magic in a jar will disappear because I overused it. I remember how I phoned my best friend and said, 鈥淪eems that I finally grew up,聽 I had enough cucumbers.鈥�
Seriously, pickles were something that made me realize that I was an adult.
I never thought that getting married, buying houses or vehicles would necessarily mean that someone is an adult. Even having kids. How often kids are having kids. Sometimes we never grow up, and sometimes we just don鈥檛 realize or notice the moment when we do.
And I don鈥檛 think that when we are grown up, we can鈥檛 fool around, jump on a trampoline (ours is up every summer) or going on a roller coaster. It鈥檚 something different. What is it? Nietzsche said, 鈥淢an's maturity: to have regained the seriousness that he had as a child at play.鈥� Maybe. Or maybe it鈥檚 just an understanding that you are mature enough to take responsibility for your own actions and decisions.
But I realized that I was an adult when I ate all I wanted for cucumbers and pickles, and I still had lots left, but I didn鈥檛 want to finish them anymore. After that, all adult tasks were within my depth.
