Miss Betty's Pickles
I don’t remember when I first really met Miss Betty.
But I know for sure at this point, I don’t know how to live without her.
She has been my grandmother’s neighbor for the entirety of my life. Just a hop, skip and gravel driveway away in the land of zero cell service… yes, even if you have verizon.
She’s living in her 8th decade of life and continues to be stronger than an ox or the confident men that walk around in the gym wearing muscle tees.
I first learned of her when she got a hold of when my birthday was and started sending my birthday cards every year. And once she met Cody, she started sending him a card. And then Lou and now Oaks.
“It’s just one of my ministries” she says as if it’s one of the most important things she does. And honestly, in today’s world, I think it is.
She pencils you into her calendar because she doesn’t have a cell phone and spends most of her days in her garden that is 2x the size of my house.
Her answering machine on her home phone is simple and to the point of what she needs from you and then, as if she ended the recording, she pauses and adds, “And remember, Jesus loves you.”
Her claim to fame is her bread and butter pickles.
I have spent my life avoiding sweet pickles. They seem wrong at every corner. I can remember grabbing the little pickles on the relish tray at Christmas and when it wasn’t dill it felt like deep betrayal.
Until I had Miss Betty’s pickles. Sweet, with the perfect amount of sour. Enough for you to say, “Im not a sweet pickle person”, only to return for another plate full. Listen, there is no shame in meals that consist predominantly of cheese, pickles and the best crispy crackers or the right kind of dried fruit. I stand by that.
If it’s Okra Pickles, leave out the rest and give me the jar. I am good till morning.
Miss Betty and I have been phone date friends for a lot of years now. I would call her and ask her questions about canning or pickling for years. I was all talk and zero action. I would visit her house and let her tell me how to do things, but no follow through.
We lived 3 hours apart, I had no garden, and I am visual, so I felt confused the moment I tried to read what she told me to do on scrap paper.
But, when we moved to our family farm and just 6 minutes from miss Betty, I determined that I would have a garden that was successful and that I would successfully preserve what was in it.
Year one, I was pregnant and angry at everything so there was no garden. I just called miss betty and asked if I could buy a few jars of her pickles.
“Sure, Hon. Just come on by tomorrow around 1 and I’ll give you a few. I don’t want your money.”
When I pulled up, she had three full boxes of green beans, squash, pickles and a cooler of okra for me to take home. When I offered to help her haul the boxes she put her hand up to me and said, “no. this work, this is what keeps me alive.”
So I honored what a southern lady asked me to do and I got out of her way.
Did I mention she is strong and tough as nails?
This year, we had a garden and a good one. And when my cucumber plants started producing 15 cucumbers a day, I called in for back up.
Miss Betty LaRue. Salt of the earth and tough as an ox.
I knew she would teach me and do so with a posture of love and not irritation. There is something so spectacular about her generation. They lived their lives canning and preserving as a means of survival and we do so out of a means of “this is really cool and probably helpful to know about.” SO honestly, us millenials have got to be mega annoying.
But we planned it. a day in the kitchen for us to make some pickles and her show me the ropes.
She put me to work slicing cucumbers and prepping mason jars and stirring the mix to pour over the pickles.
I learned in that 2 hours we spent together making TWELVE jars of dill pickles that miss betty shares all of her preserved food with people around her. She meets the Lord in the garden every morning and “heats up with the sun” as to be able to stand the Alabama heat for longer than 30 minutes.
I learned that her sisters “cucumbers didn’t take” so she was going to “carry some to her when we finished.”
for all you non-southerners reading: her sisters cucumbers didn’t grow so she is going to go to her house and bring her a sack full of hers own to share.
We laughed and she told me stories about her husband, why red birds are the most special birds and what all the Lord shows her while she works in the garden.
My mom and cousin came over to observe and learn too. We watched miss betty stick her hand in boiling water to make sure she perfectly sealed these cans. Jaw dropped I said, you must have tough hands and she smiled and said, “well hon, they’re good and lived in.”
We sealed up the pickles and set them in a cool dark place until we have a need for charcuterie or burger night.
There’s something deeply missing in our world today. The need to gather, to let someone teach us instead of begging to be the expert and be seen for it. We have no sense of community because we don’t want to take the time to ask for it. Give me an instruction manual or a 6 month course and I am all set.
But the miss betty’s of the world. They sit in the garden with the Lord to process grief and hear Him. They became the experts not by hiding away and emerging perfectly, but my the hard work. The gathering in a kitchen and canning peas or pickles and talking about life and friends and good and hard and when the weather will change for the garden to do its thing.
They don’t starve for attention they obtain it by humbly serving and loving their neighbors.
I called miss betty yesterday to double check that I was canning my zuccini right. If I could attach her voice mail she left me here I would.
But she ended it with, “And Honey remember, let them cans sit till you hear em seal. If it didn’t take, I’ll teach you how to fix that right up next time we get together. I love you, hon. talk soon.”
I am not kin to miss betty. Just a neighbor.
She taught me how to write letters as a means of ministry, heat up with the day, she gave me day lillies from her yard to plant in mine so that I might have some sort of landscaping, she gave me free pickles and green beans and taught me that no matter where you are, Jesus is there too.
I hope to have her over again soon.
Here’s the process of making her pickles:
Miss Wage’s pickling mix. (yep, the mix is the best. Just trust me.)
White vinegar. DO NOT use apple cider vinegar.
Mason Jars
a large pot
a small pot
A wide and deep pan (I use my turkey pan without the rack in it!)
How to make and seal:
Mix your pickle mix on the stove and bring it to a boil.
In a smaller pot, fill with your tops. alternate them in different directions so they are easy to pick up and separate with a fork while they’re boiling.
fill up your large turkey pan with water and set your jars in. Your jars need to be packed tight with sliced cucumbers.
Bring it to a boil.
You want your jars to get hot from bottom to the top. Once the top of the jar is hot, pour your pickling mix over the top. Grab a lid from the boiling water (you can fork it out!) and place it on, grab a ring and screw up the top. Move it from the stove to the counter to cool and let the lids POP to seal!
You will hear them pop within the hour of setting them out to cool.
Once they’re sealed, label and store in a cool place!