Can It?

I love flowers and every year, I plant them on just about every square inch of our deck. I've got them in window sills, hanging baskets, over the rail planters, over sized pots, and whiskey barrels. I'm always looking for new and different plants and love catering to hummingbirds and butterflies.

A few years ago, I was in my annual search of something different when I came across a tropical "bush" called Angel's Trumpet. The flowers were long and hummingbirds loved them. I bought three small 8-inch starter stalks and planted them in my whiskey barrels.

I probably should have read the entire description of these plants.

Even though some species are technically bushes, most tend to be more tree-like. Turns out, the ones I bought weren't technically anything – they were actual trees, in every sense of the word. Trees that within three months were towering over my head, and had turned their section of the deck into a jungle.

The worst part was that they were on the section of the deck that held Matt's beloved grill. He wasted no time in pointing out that wielding a machete to obtain access to your beloved Weber was in no way conducive to a satisfactory barbequing experience.

This year, Matt decided that he'd like to grow a vegetable garden due in no small part to his sense of frugality. Loving watching things grow, I was thrilled. He worked a little section of our yard, tilling the soil, adding dirt and compost. He even took it a bit further and channeled his inner P. Allen Smith.

He made biodegradable pots out of newspapers, and in March, planted vegetable seeds. He put the little pots on a few windowsills and patiently watered them. He was rewarded with lots and lots of tender shoots, which he lovingly planted.

Then, he told me the rest of his vision for our little Victory Garden. He'd taken stock of all the cans of tomatoes, sauces and salsas and decided that this year, we should learn to can our own. What he really meant by "we" was me.

And that's when my little Lucy brain went, wait . . . what?

I was concerned that he was laboring under the delusion that I was Laura Ingalls Wilder and that we were living in the Little House on the Prairie. I had hoped that after all these years together, he'd remember why he began to call me Lucy. But alas, hope springs eternal.

I do have many friends who can their own food every year. When I told them that I was considering doing it myself, knowing me, they begged me to reconsider. At the very least, I shouldn't feel obligated to share my bounty with them since they always had more than they needed.

That's good friend code for, "There is absolutely no way on God's green Earth that I'd ever feed those that I love something that you canned." Of course, this fueled my interest and I decided to go online. How hard could it be?

You know, you'd think I'd stop saying that by now.

I found a site that explained how to can, began my research and found that the keys to safe canning of food are proper PH, moisture content, temperature, pressure, time, sterile procedures and proper sealing. Sounds more like a guide to safe operating room procedures and I'd probably have a better shot at becoming a surgeon than learning them.

Still, I pressed on as, according to my home bottling guru, home canning is safer than commercial preparation. While that's probably true, it's usually not wise to leave me in control of proper procedures of anything more complicated than a recipe.

There are also four areas of food safety that I should take into careful consideration. Food spoilage, burns and scalds, broken jars and cuts, and lifting injuries caused by improperly picking up gallons of food filled jars.

I could take some comfort in knowing that if I've followed the steps of proper preserving correctly, my kitchen will be sterile. Thus any further introduction of germs should be minimized.

Still, the bottom line is that according to the experts, canning is perfectly safe. That is, except for a chance of botulism, a trip to the emergency room for third-degree burns or severed arteries, and possibly needing the services of a chiropractor for the rest of my life. Things weren't looking up.

In addition to learning how not to give my family food poisoning and realizing that the canning process was tantamount to rocket science as far as I was concerned, there was the matter of the tools I'd need. Apparently, improvising equipment isn't safe and can cause another lengthy list of injury or food spoilage; so my trusty website advised me to have all my home canning tools and equipment at the ready.

Swell, more talk about food poisoning; but I read on to find what I'm going to need to buy.

I'd need a large pot with the capacity to entertain several jars of food at once, without them touching one another or the bottom of the pan. I was advised that there are specific pots that come with canning racks, but I could use my stock pots. Well, that is if they're "non reactive."

I have no idea what that means, and after the surprising amount of warnings I'd read, figured it would be best not to find out on my own. So, I added "large canning pot" to my list of items to buy.

I'll also need measuring spoons and cups, ladles or glass measuring pitchers, paring knives, cutting boards, old towels or rags, a canning funnel, a jar lifter and a magnetic lid wand. And even though a butter knife can technically be used to burp the jars of food, it's probably best if I obtain a bubble wand. Cold metal knives coming into contact with steaming hot glass have been known to cause small explosions.

This just keeps getting better and better. Now we've added the possibility that a regular butter knife can turn into a detonation device, causing a glass jar to explode into a hundred pieces.

What am I all of a sudden - MacGyver?

By now, I was thoroughly convinced; I was definitely not a candidate for becoming a home canner. If I had been born in the "old days," my family would have ceased to exist because I'd probably have cut them, given them food poisoning,or caused them to suffer a myriad of injuries due to improper lifting.

More than likely, I'd have accidentally used the power of a butter knife and blew up the Little House on the Prairie.

After adding up the cost of the equipment and factoring in the many opportunities for disaster, Matt agreed that canning was probably best left in the hands of anyone but me. Plus, his sense of frugality kicked in big time; the 10 for 10 sale at Weis' proved too tempting, not to mention safe, to pass up.

Besides, in my life, the opportunities to become "MacGyver" are endless.