I come upstairs to get away from all that red and what do I see? People washing strawberries!”
The rest of the strawberries were canned. That evening: two jars came unsealed.
Father quickly turned them into jam. The next morning: two more lids popped up;
and that afternoon: four lids. Mr. van Daan hadn’t gotten the jars hot enough when he was sterilizing them,
so Father ended up making jam every evening. We ate hot cereal with strawberries,
buttermilk with strawberries, bread with strawberries, strawberries for dessert,
strawberries with sugar, strawberries with sand. For two days there was nothing but strawberries,
strawberries, strawberries, and then our supply was either exhausted or in jars, safely under lock and key.
“Hey, Anne,” Margot called out one day, “Mrs. van Hoeven has let us have some peas, twenty pounds!”
“That’s nice of her,” I replied. And it certainly was, but it’s so much work... ugh!
“On Saturday, you’ve all got to shell peas,” Mother announced at the table.
And sure enough, this morning after breakfast our biggest enamel pan appeared on the table, filled to the brim with peas.
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