There is nuthin’ like biting down on a big, crunchy dill pickle.  I think about them, and my mouth literally starts to water.  Aaaaand there is nuthin’ like biting down on a big, mushy dill pickle.  Let me tell ya’, you’d see the disgusting sight of me spitting out mushy pickle real fast.  Gross.

Mom, bless her, made dill pickles one year that I remember.  They were mushy.  Thus, the “only one year.”  Her red cinnamon pickles turned out crunchy and wondrous, but the dills were awful (sorry mom).

Dad grew an abundance of cucumbers this year and kept loading us down with them every time he saw us.  They were delicious, but there is only so much of cucumber salad and cucumber sandwiches and sliced cucumbers and cucumbers in your salad that a person can take.  Sooooo, I decided that dill pickles would be a great option.

Earlier this summer when I was sick and stayed home, I decided that would be the perfect pickle making time.  Pretty sure that the strep throat had infiltrated my brain and made me a wee bit delusional.  I sliced and packed and canned away – twenty-one jars, to be precise.  The pictures turned out so purdy.

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But the pickles turned out so AWFUL.  Mush all the way.  I glared at those dumb pickles and stomped my foot and croaked out my anger through my sore throat.  I was mad.

Well, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, right?  A couple weeks later, I had calmed down enough to do just that.  This time, I got online and did research galore.  “How to make crunchy pickles.”  Armed with new information, I tackled the ol’ cukes again.

I sliced and packed and canned away, empowered by all the online tips.  I opened a cooled jar and bit…it.was.cruuuuUUUNCHY!!!!!!!!  I dance and yelled and celebrated and promptly cut some off for Caleb to taste.

I watched expectantly, eyes wide, ears ready for praise of my ability to make crunchy pickles.  He was silent, but his twisted mouth, half closed, fluttering eyes and puckered lips spoke volumes.  Well, in my excitement, I had forgotten to actually TASTE the pickles.  They were awful.  I cried.  Stupid pickles.

So, I got a hold of a wonderful lady who makes perfect pickles and asked her her secret.  I WILL make good pickles this summer.   I sliced and packed and canned away, timid about the probable results.  They cooled and I opened a jar once more.  It was crunchy…I thought it tasted good…The Man didn’t scrunch his face…he said they were good…and in the next couple weeks, he kept eating them – voluntarily!!!!!!!!!!!  WHAHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!  Pickles, I made dill pickles!!!!!!!

Summer life is now complete.  😀

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And as I finished typing this, I just thought about the additional batch I made last night, and I got a sinking feeling.  I skipped a step.  *sigh*  Well, at least they turned out at least once this summer.

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