[picapp align=”center” wrap=”false” link=”term=green+beans&iid=256441″ src=”http://view2.picapp.com/pictures.photo/image/256441/bean-face/bean-face.jpg?size=500&imageId=256441″ width=”339″ height=”480″ /]

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Many years ago, when my STBX and I were looking at houses before we bought this one, a realtor showed us another old farm house that had an outbuilding. I paid very little attention to what the realtor was saying about it, because everywhere I looked I saw quart jars of home-canned green beans. Everywhere. There were hundreds. On shelves. On tables. On the floor. The problem with home-canned things is that you can’t just trust and eat them unless you know the people who canned them and that they used the proper method, especially when it comes to things that need to be pressure canned.

No one was living on this property. If I remember correctly, it had been vacant for quite awhile and was part of an inheritance.

Yet here they were. Someone’s work. Someone’s caring. Someone’s trying to give.

Dusty. Abandoned. Forgotten.

Ignored. Even by the realtor. Even by my STBX.

But not by me.

This post is a tribute to whoever canned all those green beans. 

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