Tag: food preserving

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Turton’s Jelly Makers

By Bernie Hunhoff

Char Barrie has blazed a trail for other jelly makers and home kitchen entrepreneurs. She’s known for quality products and a tireless approach to marketing, thanks in part to her husband Rolland, who still enjoys forays to fairs and shows.

Life is sweeter in South Dakota thanks to Char Barrie, the Turton woman who turned a family farmstead into a popular jelly factory.

Growing up as one of five”Navy brats” in Oklahoma, there was never enough food in the house, so she began to cook at her mother’s knee. When the family moved to South Dakota in 1967, she learned even more from her grandmother in Doland, who introduced her to the wild berries and plums of Spink County.

She married Rolland Barrie, a farmer from Turton. They have six daughters. When their grandchildren began to arrive, Char filled some of the many baby food jars with jellies to give as gifts. Friends suggested that she sell her rhubarb jelly at a VFW crafts show in Doland in 1995. Soon, there weren’t enough grandbabies, so she began to order jelly jars by the hundreds. Today, Char’s Kitchen is likely the biggest jelly maker in South Dakota.

The home-grown business is headquartered in The Jelly House, a quaint little blue-and-white building that was formerly home to a bachelor farmer.”Mr. Huber was a nice old man,” Char says.”He lived five miles east of here. When he was older, he played cards all day at the kitchen table.”

The Barries moved the house, which is only 14 feet wide, to their farmyard in 1999 when they realized that the jelly business was outgrowing the kitchen. A few years later, they built a storage and shipping building next to The Jelly House. The newer building also stores Rolland’s 1946 Ford coupe, which happens to be the same purple color as the popular chokecherry jelly.

“Ford stopped manufacturing cars in 1942 and they started making Jeeps and tanks for the army,” he said.”This was one of the first cars built after the war.”

Rolland helps with packaging and shipping the jellies, and he tends a produce garden where some of the rhubarb and other fruits and vegetables are grown. In the early years, he and Char loaded their car with boxes of jellies and spent weekends at arts and crafts shows. They weren’t always successful.

“You learn to not take it too personal,” Rolland says.”You can be Jimi Hendrix at the Castlewood gymnasium, and just because no one shows up doesn’t mean you aren’t good on the guitar.”

Though Char’s Kitchen now sells jellies and other products online and at 34 shops and stores throughout the Dakotas and Minnesota, the Barries continue to pack boxes in a car and travel to shows.”We still do about 15 a year,” Char says.”It’s a chance to meet the customers face to face. We learn what they like, and it’s pretty sweet when someone says, ‘I love your jams.’ I never get tired of that.”

Years of cultivating customer relations at the shows is evidence of a marketing savvy and commitment that sets Char’s jellies apart from her competitors, says Kevin Fiedler, who operates Ken’s Super Fair Foods Store in Aberdeen and five surrounding towns in northeast South Dakota.

Fiedler watched the Barries’ business grow from the very beginning.”Char came to us as a wholesaler to purchase some of her supplies, the jars and lids and sugars and other products. We love having South Dakota products, so it was a no-brainer to find a nice location for her products on our shelves and they sell very well.”

The Aberdeen grocer says he sells cheaper jellies, but customers are loyal to the Turton jelly maker.”When you know something is produced in your backyard and you know the commitment and the consistent quality that Char provides, then you figure it’s sure worth the value.”

Fiedler believes her unique products also grab attention.”You’re not going to find Welches or Smuckers putting out a rhubarb or a South Dakota chokecherry jelly,” he laughs. And you aren’t likely to find those companies competing to pick the wild fruits that grow along the Spink County backroads.

Big-time competitors would also be jealous of the business networks that the Barries have fostered. For example, the staff at Ken’s Grocery in Aberdeen saves watermelon rinds that the Barries pickle and sell in jars (the rinds taste like peaches). Youth from the Hillside Hutterite Colony at Doland help to pick berries, and the colony gardeners grow cucumbers and green beans for them.

Kristi Barrie, a shirttail relative, is Char’s steady assistant with the jelly-making when she’s not running the Turton post office. Other neighbors and relatives also assist during busy seasons, such as when they make and package hundreds of jars of corn cob jelly for Mitchell’s Corn Palace gift shop.

Many South Dakota food hobbyists have dreamed of starting a home-based business, and some have tried. Few of them sell like the Barries.

On a summer afternoon, Char agreed to halt jelly-making long enough to share her thoughts on why she’s succeeded in a challenging and competitive food-making industry when so many others struggle. As she related her journey, Rolland drove the old Ford out of the shed so we could get a closer look.

“What really helped me was starting out slowly,” she says.”We made our mistakes when we were small. It has taken me 25 years to get where I am, and it really blossomed in just the last few years.”

Char didn’t use the word”persistence,” but it surely defines her approach and personality. Just as she was beginning, state health officials began to regulate cottage foods, a term used by bureaucrats that does seem to describe The Jelly House. Laws and regulations have been evolving ever since. Rather than fight the trend, she worked with lawmakers and bureaucrats to write reasonable regulations. In 2004 she was issued South Dakota’s first home-based food service license.

She invests in advertising and marketing campaigns, juggles the supply-chain issues and inflationary cost pressures that small businesses face today, and still finds time to launch products.

“Our newest is corn relish,” she says.”We had some people asking for it. Rolland didn’t think he’d like the cabbage, but he says it’s good.”

The Barries have also started to make syrups for pancakes, waffles and ice cream.”We are doing chokecherry, raspberry, cinnamon, elderberry and four varieties with rhubarb — strawberry, blueberry, raspberry and apricot rhubarb.”

“Oh, we also make a pickled asparagus,” she says.”It’s very good with beer.”

For special orders and gift baskets, she wraps festive cloth around the lids of the 8-ounce and 16-ounce jelly jars. The fabric designs in the shipping room include walleye, camouflage and farm implements.”You never know what’s going to catch peoples’ eyes,” she laughs.”Rolland loves it when I go to the fabric store.”

“That’s an hour-and-a-half stop,” he groans.

On a typical day at the farm, Rolland tends to the garden while Char and Kristie work in the kitchen. She says there are a lot of steps to the process of jelly-making.”First, we wash the fruits and vegetables. Then we cook the fruit to get the juice. You have to measure the sugar. You have all the jars sterilized, washed and ready. You mix the jelly. You fill the jars, label them — some we decorate with the fabric.”

She says most jars are handled five times, and maybe more if they are packed and loaded for a craft fair.

Last year, Char’s Kitchen used 12,000 jars. Annually, she averages 2 tons of sugar, 1,000 pounds of rhubarb and 1,600 pounds of chokecherries.

Strawberry-rhubarb jelly is the most popular product, followed closely by raspberry-rhubarb, blueberry-rhubarb and apricot-rhubarb.”South Dakotans do like rhubarb,” Char says. Chokecherry is also a good seller. Char’s Kitchen also produces apple butter, pickles, salsas and other spreads and sauces.

The Barries are in their early 70s and showing no signs of slowing the pace.”We do take time off for blizzards, holidays and fishing,” Char says.”We like to go walleye fishing at Mobridge. Other than that, you’ll find us here making jelly.”

Unless, of course, you see the couple cruising Spink County’s rural roads in their chokecherry-purple Ford coupe.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2023 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Jelly for Scrimpers

By Laura Johnson Andrews

Corncob jelly is a curiosity of old cookbooks, something that conjures visions of pioneer households and frugal living. It takes a real scrimper to look at a bare cob destined for the cookstove or outhouse and think,”Gosh, I wish I could get one more use out of that.”

In lieu of actual evidence, we tend to assume that all foods were invented via the accidental collision method made famous in Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups commercials of the 1970s and’80s. Can’t you imagine two pioneer women bumping into each other on the prairie, saying,”You got your corncobs in my pot of boiling hot sugar water!””Oh yeah, well you got YOUR sugar water on MY corncobs!” before they realize that the resulting mÈlange is delicious?

Maybe, maybe not. In the early days of Dakota homesteading, salting, drying or storing food in the root cellar were more common methods of food preservation than canning. Oh, canning existed — a French cook, Nicholas Appert, won 12,000 francs off Napoleon Bonaparte in 1810 for developing a food-storage system that would help keep the French army fed and in fighting condition. Appert’s approach involved putting food in jars, corking them and sealing them with wax. The jars were then wrapped in canvas and boiled. In 1858, Philadelphia tinsmith John Landis Mason patented the Mason jar and accompanying zinc screw-on lid. The Ball brothers and others ran with the concept after Mason’s patent ran out in 1879. Lightning jars (glass canning jars with glass lids) came along in the early 1900s, and it wasn’t until 1915 that Alexander Kerr came up with the two-piece lid that home canners use today.

Settlers were certainly canning in Dakota Territory by 1875. Jellies, pickles and preserves went on display at the first territorial fair, held in Yankton on September 29-30 of that year. Corncob jelly didn’t make an appearance, but pear preserves, cherry and peach pickles and jarred plums all won awards. (Mrs. A. J. Faulk, wife of the former territorial governor, won a prize for her chokecherry jelly, but considering that her daughter, wife of prominent territorial politician/crook Walter Burleigh, was one of the judges … well, perhaps you’ll pardon our cynicism.)

All politics aside, we can all appreciate the fact that corncob jelly never was the first jar of preserves our grandmothers set out when company came, and they probably chose flashier recipes to submit to the church cookbook. However, we did locate a modern-day corncob jelly aficionado at Colome, where Fran Hill writes a food blog (my-plate.blogspot.com) and also finds time to make jams and jellies with all sorts of South Dakota blessings — from wild grapes to apples, beets and chokecherries.

“One of the first cookbooks that I owned as a newlywed contained a heritage recipe for corncob jelly,” Hill says.”It called for dried red corncobs from field corn used to feed livestock. The cobs were weighted down in a large pot of water and boiled to create a rosy-colored stock from which the jelly was made. The entry claimed it would taste like apple, and I was immediately curious.”

Hill begged her farmer-husband, Brad, for dried corncobs, but he patiently explained that cobs went out of fashion with yesterday’s corn pickers. Modern grain combines chew up and spit out the cobs, leaving them fit for little more than compost.

We grow 5 million acres of corn in South Dakota. That’s nearly a billion bushels, and yet cobs are hard to collect for many canners.

However, years later the ever-resourceful Hill began to strip her garden sweet corn for freezing and soon found herself ankle-deep in good cobs.”Now I had the Internet on my side when I searched for corncob jelly,” she says.”I tested a few recipes and found a method that suited me. It does somewhat taste like apple jelly, although not nearly as tart.”

For jelly with a little kick, she adds finely diced jalapeÒo to simmer with the corn stock before adding the sugar. Cloves, cinnamon sticks, star anise, cardamom pods, or a combination of any or all could be simmered with the corncobs when making the stock for a different kind of spice.

“The recipe is as adaptable as the homesteaders that created the concept of corncob jelly,” Hill says. Here is her recipe.

Corncob Jelly

12 ears sweet corn

water

1 tablespoon lemon juice

3 1/2 cups sugar

1 box (1.75 ounce) pectin

Before making the jelly, prepare the canner, jars and lids. Fill the canner with water, bring it to a boil, sterilize the jars and heat the lids according to the manufacturer’s directions.

Cut the corn kernels from the cobs. Set the corn aside for supper; it isn’t needed for this recipe.

Put the corncobs into a large, heavy pot. Add enough water to cover. Bring to a boil. After the corn stock has cooked for 1 hour, measure out 3 1/2 cups of liquid. At this point, you can strain out the bits of stray corn that loosened from the cobs, but I don’t. I like the added texture and interest.

In a smaller, heavy pot, bring the 3 1/2 cups of corn stock and lemon juice to a boil. Stir in the sugar. When sugar has dissolved and the mixture returns to a boil, add the pectin. Return to a hard boil for 1 minute, stirring constantly.

Ladle into sterilized jars, leaving a 1/2-inch headspace, and seal. Process for 10 minutes in the water bath canner. (Yield: 3 pints … I use 1/2 and 1/4-pint jars.)

Note: If you are unsure of the canning process, there are many informative websites that can help.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2018 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Hunting Charles Mix Plums

By Janine Kern

Janine Kern’s family plum-making heritage is a sweet respite from her professional service on the South Dakota Supreme Court. She became the 49th justice in state history in November 2014.

As a 16-year-old living in Lake Andes I was only mildly interested in the conversations between my grandmother and my great aunts about the status of ripening plums on the river bottom in late August. There was much discussion about sending out my father to look for plum patches and whether various relatives should help in the hunt. In my teenage view this level of excitement wasn’t warranted for plum jam or any canning project for that matter.

Many years later I married a man named Greg and one of his many interests was canning. Once he traced a recipe for a jar of pickles he purchased at a roadside stand to the cook who was residing in a nursing home in western South Dakota. She was delighted to share the recipe.

Greg’s zest for canning turned my thoughts back to the beautiful plums available in shelterbelts, ditches, ravines and on the Missouri River bottom in Charles Mix County. So just as my grandmother had done 40 years earlier, I asked my father, Paul Kern, an avid outdoorsman, to scout for plum patches for future harvests.

Several years later talk turned to action, and we harvested a number of plum bushes in a shelterbelt on my parents’ land. We also scoured the ditches and river bottom looking for ripened plums while being mindful of the sharp branches on the bushes and keeping an eye out for rattlesnakes. I know several industrious souls who have no qualms about picking and canning a pickup-full, but we settled for two 5-gallon pails of the biggest, juiciest plums we could find.

Over the years I discovered that conditions must be perfect for a plentiful plum harvest — namely a gentle spring without hard frosts and rain throughout the summer. These conditions are hard to come by in southeastern South Dakota, which causes me to ration plum jam throughout the year, never knowing if there will be another crop of plums. Fortunately, my father noted, it is easier to find plums now than it was when he was growing up because fewer people are harvesting them.

I took the two 5-gallon buckets of plums back to our home in Rapid City to prepare the fruit. Although there are other methods, such as boiling the whole plum and removing the pits after, I enjoy pitting the plums one at a time with a paring knife then putting them on to boil. We wear cloth garden gloves to protect our hands and arms from the splattering plum sauce. The aroma of the boiling plums is almost intoxicating.

Depending on individual preferences one can make jelly, syrup or jam with the desired consistency. We prefer jam over jelly because we like to see pieces of the plum when spread on hot buttered toast on a cold winter morning.

I am a novice canner and greatly admire those who fill their pantries with the bounty of their gardens. The colorful glass jars provide not only nutrition but also the fond memory of summer. Canning recipes passed down through generations are part of our heritage as South Dakotans. Hopefully the younger generations can be drawn into the wonderful world of canning without a 30-year delay like my own.

Janine’s Family Jam

Pick large beautiful plums if you can find them. Pit one at a time. Refrigerate fruit if it won’t be immediately canned. Sprinkle stored fruit with lemon juice and stir. Can last three days in the refrigerator until you are ready to tackle the project.

When ready to can use a food processor to chop plums to desired consistency. Place 13 cups of plums in a large canning pot. Mix 1/2 cup sugar and 2 boxes of low sugar pectin in a separate bowl and then add to plums. Bring to a full boil. Add 8 1/2 cups sugar a few cups at a time while stirring. Return to a full rolling boil for exactly 1 minute. Remove plum mixture from heat.

In a large processing pot have your jars preheating. In a small saucepan simmer jar lids and rings in water. Fill jars to 1/8 inch from top with plum mixture. Return to processing pot and boil 10 minutes. Remove the jam and place on the counter to cool. Listen to the jar lids pop, assuring you have a good seal. Serves as a powerful pick me up on a cold winter day. Makes 8 pints.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the September/October 2015 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Twitter to the Rescue

By Fran Hill

Twitter often gets a bad rap. Trolls bully. Celebrities have meltdowns and tantrums. Misinformation abounds.

But occasionally, good things happen in the Twittersphere. People in need find information and support. Breaking news isn’t just a Hollywood stunt and sometimes, even a real conversation takes place.

I have been part of the Twitter community since its inception. I drop 140-character observations, recipe links, a few rants and some raves and ask in depth, probing questions, like”What’s for dinner?” Recently, one such tweeted quest led me back to one of my own classic recipes.

Every spring, a shearing crew based in far western South Dakota treks to our farm near Colome to shear the sheep we are fattening for sale. It takes a large crew and several sessions to de-frock our flock, and of course, everyone needs to eat. That is my job. I have a basic menu of tried and true meals to feed the hardworking crowd, but sometimes, choosing from the options is a dilemma.

Faced with what to do with leftover roasted chicken, I sent out a quick tweet pondering options of enchiladas or chicken noodle soup. It didn’t take long for the poll to return overwhelming support for enchiladas. In fact, the replies practically demanded that enchiladas were the only real option.

Thankfully, my pantry shelves are stocked with jars of my home-canned enchilada sauce. I always dedicate a portion of my garden tomatoes to a smoky jeweled sauce. After Twitter made the decision for me, putting together enchiladas for a shearing meal was super easy, and of course, deliciously enjoyed by everyone … even vicariously through Twitter.

From Scratch Enchilada Sauce

Earmark a batch of garden tomatoes for a rich and spicy enchilada sauce.

5-8 pounds tomatoes

1 cup white vinegar

3/4 cup chili powder

1/2 cup salt

2 tablespoons cumin

2 tablespoons oregano

2 tablespoons cinnamon

1/2 cup sugar

1 (6 ounce) can tomato paste

Chop tomatoes and place in a large, heavy pot over medium heat. Add the seasonings. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes to an hour, until tomatoes have cooked down and flesh has released from the skins. Remove from heat.

Process tomatoes through a food mill/cone colander with pestle/sieve/or similar utensil to strain the seeds and skin.

Return sauce to heavy pot. Add the tomato paste and bring to a simmer. Cook until desired consistency.

Ladle into prepared jars (I used half-pints.) and secure lids. Process in hot water bath for 30 minutes. (If you are unsure of the canning process, there are many informative sites online. I am not a canning authority).

Fran Hill has been blogging about food at On My Plate since October of 2006. She, her husband and their three dogs ranch near Colome.

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The Real Thing

By Fran Hill

A few nights ago, Hubs and I joined several friends for an evening out at a local establishment. As these kinds of nights should be, it was full of fun, companionship and lively conversation. Harvest progress was discussed. Local gossip was mulled over. And everyone rolled their eyes at the current political follies.

It was sometime between the guys’ trip to the salad bar and when their steaks and prime rib were served that the topic of food arose. We all like food — a lot. Our group has a nose for sniffing out the best the area has to offer, and we aren’t shy with sharing our enjoyment of excellent cuisine.

So, when a member of our food-loving party offered to show me something that tastes”just like tomato soup,” I was game. Never mind that this guy isn’t known for rolling up his sleeves in the kitchen. Never mind that we are sitting at a back table in the local watering hole and ingredients for tomato soup don’t seem to be available. Let’s just call me adventurous when I watched him squirt a huge blob of ketchup onto a saltine cracker and liberally douse it with pepper. We might need to call me insane when I took that cracker and ate it in one big gulp. It didn’t taste like tomato soup. Not. At. All.

If you want something that does taste just like tomato soup, I have a recipe for you. You probably won’t be able to replicate it for your friends at a table in a bar, but that’s OK. This soup is meant to be savored on cool fall nights and dunked with grilled cheese for lunch. It tastes just like tomato soup should.

Vibrant garden tomatoes make a smooth and creamy homemade soup.

Mmm, Mmm Good! Tomato Soup

10-12 pounds tomatoes, chopped (enough to fill my 7 1/4 quart Dutch oven … seeds, skins and all)

2 yellow onions, chopped

1 head garlic, minced

1/2 cup fresh basil, chopped

3 teaspoons celery salt

1 tablespoon kosher salt

fresh cracked black pepper

4 tablespoons sugar

1 cup butter, melted

1 cup flour

3 tablespoons fresh basil, chopped finely

Chop tomatoes and place in a large, heavy pot over medium heat. Add the onions, garlic, and 1/2 cup of chopped fresh basil. Season with salt and pepper.

Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, until tomatoes have cooked down and flesh has released from the skins. Remove from heat.

Process tomatoes through a food mill or cone colander with pestle, sieve or similar utensil to strain the seeds and skin. (Alternatively, use a wand blender to thoroughly blend tomatoes into a puree.) Return pulpy juice to heavy pot and bring to a simmer. Add sugar.

With mixer, mix together the melted butter and flour. With mixer running, slowly add a ladle of warm tomato juice to the flour mixture. Repeat with 4 or 5 more ladles of soup until the flour mixture is warm and thoroughly combined with a good portion of the juice.

Add the warm tomato/flour mixture to the pot of simmering juice, stirring constantly to combine. Add the 3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh basil. Heat thoroughly.

Ladle into prepared jars (I use pints) and secure lids. Process in pressure canner for 15 minutes at 10 pounds of pressure. (Yield: 6-8 pints.) If you are unsure of the canning process, there are many informative sites online. I am not a canning authority.

Fran Hill has been blogging about food at On My Plate since October of 2006. She, her husband and their three dogs ranch near Colome.

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Apple Pie Jam: It’s Worth It

By Fran Hill

I fill a basket with the first ripe tomatoes of the season, pull a couple onions and some garlic, and snip basil to simmer all together into a flavorful sauce that will be jarred for winter. I cheer.

I pick a large bowl full of green beans and carefully watch the pressure gauge on the canner as they process. I feel like doing cartwheels.

Friends bring fresh peaches to the area, and cases are preserved. I laugh at my fortune.

More tomatoes roll in, and homemade soup soon lines my basement shelves. I am blessed.

Cucumbers mature and are bathed in jars of brine for crisp and delicious pickles. I smile.

Sweet corn ripens, is harvested, and cut from the cob to be frozen. I am happy.

Herbs become destined for the dehydrator. I can taste the difference this will make in our winter meals.

Yet more tomatoes come into the kitchen in 5-gallon buckets and are processed into salsa. My skin is so gloriously radiant from standing over the constant steaming cauldron of the hot water bath.

Tomatillos and green chiles are stirred together and pureed. Green jars join the red pints on the shelves. I snap a photo.

More tomatoes. More sauces. I am wearing down, but have calculated how many meals I will serve for shearing in the spring and know this is a huge help.

A freeze is possible and many peppers find their way into my kitchen to avoid the chill. The tedious process of roasting and peeling and seeding is so worth the amazing flavor.

Beets are pickled. Those holiday relish trays will be so amazing.

More tomatoes. Pureed. More red jars. Groan.

More tomatoes. Juice. Quarts this time. Sigh.

My large enamel pot for hot water bathing is a permanent fixture on my stove top, and the kitchen table hasn’t been free of Ball jars since late July. Eye roll.

A friend asks how gardening and preserving is going, and I can’t even fake enthusiasm. I am tired.

I declare that I am done. Finished. No more canning for the year. The rest of the produce can find another home.

But then, another friend calls and asks if I want some apples. I take a deep breath and accept. I cannot resist. Apple Pie Jam will be worth it. It always is.

Tired of canning? Apple pie jam will get you through one more round.

Apple Pie Jam

4 cups tart apples, chopped (I do not peel.)

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ginger

1/4 teaspoon cloves

1 box (1.75 ounces) dry pectin

3 cups sugar

1 cup brown sugar

1 tablespoon butter

Measure chopped apples in a large measuring cup. With apples in cup, add water to the 4-cup line. (This amounts to about 3/4 to 1 cup of water.)

Pour into a heavy pan and add lemon juice, spices and pectin. Stir to combine.

Bring to a boil.

Add sugars and butter and bring back to a full, rolling boil. Boil 1 minute.

Remove from heat and skim off any foam.

Ladle into sterilized jars leaving 1/4-inch headspace.

Seal with rings and lids and process in a hot water bath for 10 minutes. (Yields 3 pints. I like to use 1/4-pint jars for jams and jellies.)

Fran Hill has been blogging about food at On My Plate since October of 2006. She, her husband and their three dogs ranch near Colome.

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Canning Produce and Wit

By Katie Hunhoff

Henrietta Truh’s cookbook has a lifetime of recipes and wisdom.

Editor’s Note: Henrietta Truh was 94 when we met her in her kitchen in Carthage in the summer of 2014. Truh passed away last winter. A version of this story appeared in our November/December 2014 issue. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

Henrietta Truh burst into her kitchen, apologizing for the mess.”The health inspector told me it’s cluttered but clean,” she said. Glass jars of pickles and salsa filled the countertops. Red Wing crocks sat on the floor. Fresh apples, peppers and tomatoes were waiting to be canned, and she had a stash of lollipops for kids who visit.

Truh was 10 years old when she learned to can on a wood-burning stove at her family’s farm in Wisconsin. She has used those skills ever since. Today, at 94, she estimates that she cans three to four thousand jars each year in her commercial kitchen in the little town of Carthage. She then takes her preserves — cucumbers, tomatoes, pickles, relish, pickled radish, salsa, jelly and applesauce — and sells them at farmers markets in De Smet and Salem. Her donuts, cookies, pies and kuchen are also best sellers.

Carthage doesn’t have a farmers market, but if it did Truh would be the queen. She’s known as the Pickle Lady in the tiny town of 150 that had 15 minutes of fame when the movie Into the Wild was filmed there in 2007. The movie is based on a true story by Jon Krakauer about Chris McCandless, a young man who gave away $24,000 intended for law school to travel the country and to live as simply as possible.

McCandless came to Carthage in the fall of 1990 after the owner of the local grain elevator, Wayne Westerberg, found him hitchhiking in Montana and offered him a job. McCandless worked at the elevator for a few months and also painted a house Westerberg owned just down the block from Truh’s home. McCandless stopped back in Carthage in 1992 on his way to Alaska, where his body was found in an abandoned bus near Denali.

The Cabaret, a popular steak house and lounge, was featured in the movie and today the restaurant’s walls are covered with Into the Wild memorabilia. Across the street, Truh’s daughter Melanie runs a cafe and bar called the Prairie Inn. There is no grocery store in town, so Melanie stocks some basics — ice cream, bubble gum and toilet paper. Further west on Main Street is the Coughlin Inn, an 1889 13-room Victorian mansion that was home to the Coughlins. The most famous of their 10 children was Charles, who graduated from South Dakota State in Brookings, became head of engine-maker Briggs & Stratton and later built the Campanile on the SDSU campus.

Truh, though a transplant, seems to fit the town of Carthage. She and her husband, Adolph, farmed in Minnesota and raised four children. After Adolph died of cancer, Henrietta continued to live and work on farms in Minnesota until she followed Melanie to Carthage in 1989. Her son, Charles, also moved to town, and her daughter Lois is a family practice physician in nearby Huron. Her daughter Janice lives in Fargo and supplies Truh with the apples she needs for canning.

When we visited, tomatoes from Charles’ garden were piled high and she was working on salsa.”My hours are according to the produce,” she said.”I will sit here and work 10 hours a day in order to get things done.” Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night to start canning.”My son likes to tell people, ‘Mom’s 94 — she just doesn’t know it yet,'” she jokes. But visiting in her kitchen we understood her son’s meaning. Truh’s personality shines with wit and passion for her work.

She’s as sassy as her horseradish.”I’ve been told I can make anything taste good,” she says.”Even horse manure.” And when we commented on how youthful she appears for her age, she retorted,”Do I have to look 94?”

No, we agreed. She doesn’t have to look 94. And she doesn’t have to act 94.”Every age I’ve been through has been interesting. So why not continue? The reason I’m doing my business is because someday I might get old and not be able to do it anymore,” she laughs.

Truh’s mother, Rachel, was from Canning Town, England. Every Christmas her family enjoyed suet pudding, a traditional English dish, as a holiday treat. The pumpkin cake is from Truh’s cookbook, Tried ‘n Truh, which includes hundreds of recipes she collected through her life.

Suet Pudding

1 cup suet (chopped)

4 cups white flour

1 1/4 cups raisins

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon sugar

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)

Mix ingredients and shape into a loaf. Moisten with cold water and put on a floured cloth. Tie shut and submerge in boiling water for about 2.5 hours. Keep covered with water and add more boiling water as necessary to keep pudding covered. When time is up, lift the bag and remove pudding from the cloth. Slice it, serve hot, sprinkled with sugar or use syrup on each serving.

Holiday Pumpkin Cake

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup vegetable shortening

1 egg

1 1/2 cups cooked pumpkin (mashed)

1 3/4 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1 cup raisins

1 cup nuts (broken)

Cream sugar and shortening, add the egg; beat until light and fluffy. Blend in pumpkin. Sift together dry ingredients and add to the pumpkin mixture. Mix until thoroughly blended. Lightly fold in raisins and nuts. Spoon evenly into a greased and floured (or sugared) 8-inch tube pan. Bake at 325 degrees for 65 minutes.

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Buffalo Berries

By Linda Hasselstrom

At the edges of plateaus, wind and water erosion often cuts into the limestone to create small canyons, little habitats that are less arid than the surrounding plains, biological marvels: the Hanging Gardens of Dakota. Several kinds of bushes and trees, besides buffalo berry, favor this habitat: plum, currant, chokecherry, and sumac flourish under stunted cedars. Technically, the buffalo berry is Shepherdia Argentia, a perennial member of the Oleaster family. The shrub is seldom more than 6 feet tall, though one source says it can grow to 25 feet. The leaves are modestly silver on one side, gray and scaly on the other; brown flowers appear in May and June.

I have often thought the buffalo berry was designed with greedy humans in mind. You know the ones: they associate size and glitter with quality. It’s not love that counts with them, but the size of the diamond. They don’t care how a car runs; their eyes shine at spoke wheels, shiny red paint, a large price tag. These folks won’t notice the boring buffalo berry, even when it’s covered with berries that range from golden to a deep, brownish red.

The flavor of buffalo berries is incomparable. It most closely resembles alum, a cooking ingredient you probably will no longer find in your kitchen if you don’t make pickles. One-quarter teaspoon of alum, or a handful of buffalo berries, makes your mouth feel like you are eating Death Valley. The secret of buffalo berries is this: it’s impossible to eat them from the bush. They are the ideal harvest berries because you get what you pick.

Their other hidden weapon makes buffalo berries the elite among wild fruit. The thorns can be up to six inches long, all scientifically placed so you cannot pick a single berry without puncturing naked hands. Even leather gloves don’t save you from injury. Some experts say buffalo berry pickers should wait until the first frost loosens the berries, then spread a white sheet on the ground under the bushes, and shake the branches vigorously to dislodge the fruit. When I’ve waited for frost, I found the bushes bare, the ground decorated with a few shriveled berries and millions of grouse footprints. I heard miniature belches and the distant thunder of the flock waddling away. That’s the time to shoot a grouse, if you can see the little masters of camouflage. Then gently slit the crop, rinse the berries he’s eaten, and replace his intestines with them; roast him for an hour, and enjoy his succulent flesh with buffalo berry sauce.

The only really effective way to pick buffalo berries is to put on elbow-length leather gloves, a long-sleeved denim jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, and tuck the bottoms of your pants firmly into your boots to keep some of the ticks from crawling up your legs. The worst is yet to come. The berries are stuck to the branches, so you have to work to harvest them. On the other hand, they hang in clusters; each determined tug should give you about 10 berries. Then all you have to do is get them into the bucket without dropping the whole bunch.

One hot day, we picked two buckets in about a half hour. We left a large number of berries for the grouse: all those hidden in the tumbleweeds where we didn’t want to reach for fear of rattlesnakes, and the berries higher than we could reach.

Unlike plums, buffalo berries don’t have to be laboriously separated from their seeds, or peeled. Simply fill the bucket with water, and float the leaves and debris off the surface. Then drain off excess water, and dump the berries into a large cooking pot with a little water. Those who prefer the security of a recipe should use the sour cherry jelly recipe on a popular brand of fruit pectin, and substitute apple juice for one-third to one-half of the water. I use half or less of the amount of sugar prescribed, because I appreciate the berries’ tartness. When the juice has been boiled away from the seeds, I strain it before adding sugar for the second cooking.

The jelly is a tawny peach color, and the flavor is hard to describe. I might compare it to apple pie with lemon: sweet, extra tangy. But another element lurks in the flavor that I can’t compare to anything else. I think it’s the essence of wildness, clean prairie air made solid. It contains the deer that nibbled the leaves in winter, the beating of grouse wings as they pick berries from the highest branch, the blundering invulnerability of a porcupine living under the ledge. It’s the taste of blinding white drifts slowly being built and smoothed into glittering sculpture outside the house as you make morning toast, slathering it with butter and buffalo berry jelly. The jelly brings the flavor of summer heat to your tongue, a sheet of sweat to your shoulders; even as you watch the blizzard, it reminds you of spring fragrance and the cool nights of fall.

And there’s something more. Buffalo berries are symbolic, to me, of the answer to the question all plains people are eventually asked.

“Why,” the questioner will ask, looking around just before he gets back on the plane that will take him back to some metropolis, and smiling a little disdainfully, “Why do you stay here? You could be anywhere; you could make more money, have all the advantages. I know it’s beautiful, but … ” The questioner will shrug, wait a few seconds for an answer that doesn’t come, and tum to climb the steps to the seats between the mighty engines which may or may not fall off during his escape from the plains.

I want to say, “Because of the buffalo berries.” These tart little berries on hidden, thorny bushes are what the modern people of the plains have become. We’re not easy to find, and we tend to be a little prickly if we’ve been here long. Hardship and freedom breed stoicism, and don’t leave us with much patience for such questions. But when you get to know us, when you understand a little of our plains habitat, we’re rare and tasty.

Though it’s difficult to transfer hot jelly from a large pan into a tiny glass, I use my smallest containers for buffalo berry jelly. Almost none of it leaves the ranch. The people I give it to can be counted on the fingers of one hand bloodied with picking berries, and include the best people I know. A few years ago I published in one of my books a map of our ranch; I included specific directions that made my family a bit nervous, and a lot of detail: where the horse stepped on me, where my favorite horse is buried, the dam where the coyotes hunt. I’ve paid for my candor every time someone uses the map to drive into my yard and ask for a “tour of the ranch.” But even while being so naively forthright, I didn’t put in the ravines where buffalo berries grow, and it’s no use asking me. Find your own. Like Mother Nature, I can be harsh; like her, I’ve given you fair clues to their habitat.

And while you’re looking, you might come to understand what we are doing here, and that knowledge will be something else you can savor through a long, cold winter in some sooty, crowded city.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the July/August 1991 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.

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Carrots Among Friends

By Fran Hill

They claim that the beta-carotene in carrots is good for our eyesight. I know that good friends are good for my soul. Those two statements may seem unrelated, but you probably didn’t have a trash bag of freshly-dug-from-the-garden carrots show up on your doorstep. I have good friends, and they make my life better. In fact, I think they make my life great.

This Thanksgiving, as always, I have so much for which to be grateful, but first and foremost, I am saying a prayer of thankfulness for my marvelous friends. Over the years, I have managed to gather an amazing tribe that looks out for each other in ways big and small. I am grateful for each and every one.

As for those carrots, I followed my friend’s advice and have been storing them in my spare fridge wrapped in newspaper and tied up in a bag. They are still crisp and sweet and wonderful with dip, in salads, stir-fried, roasted, shredded into cakes and muffins and simmered in stew. But truthfully, a kitchen trash bag of carrots is A LOT of carrots, so my preserving nature has also sliced, blanched and frozen some and has plans to pressure can a few jars, as well. Last weekend, I even shredded a couple for some jars of Carrot Cake Marmalade.

This sweet preserve is delicious on toast, and I think it might make a wonderful filling for a layered cake (maybe smothered in cream cheese frosting). The jellied combination of shredded carrot, apple, pineapple, raisins and pecans has a hint of all the autumn spices of a carrot cake. I have several jars ready to share with those incredible friends of mine.

Carrot Cake Marmalade

1 1/2 cups carrots, grated

1 1/2 cups apple, cored, peeled and chopped

1 20-ounce can crushed pineapple, including juice

1/2 cup raisins, roughly chopped

3 tablespoons lemon juice

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/2 teaspoon ground cloves

1/2 cup pecan, chopped

1 package powdered fruit pectin

6 1/2 cups sugar

Combine carrots, apples, pineapple with juice, raisins, lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves in a 6- or 8-quart saucepan. Bring mixture to a boil over high heat, stirring frequently. Reduce heat, cover and simmer gently for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and whisk in pectin until dissolved. Bring mixture to a full rolling boil that cannot be stirred down, over high heat, stirring frequently.

Add sugar all at once and return to a full rolling boil, stirring constantly. Boil hard for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Add pecans and stir.

Ladle hot jam into prepared jars leaving 1/4 inch headspace. Process in a boiling water canner for 10 minutes. (If you are unsure of the canning process, there are many informative sites online. I am not a canning authority.) (Makes approx. 6 half-pints.)

Fran Hill has been blogging about food at On My Plate since October of 2006. She, her husband and their two dogs ranch near Colome.

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Sweet Corn for Winter

By Fran Hill

The first day of autumn isn’t until next week, but fall harvest is well underway. Wheat has all been culled from the fields, and the straw baled. The final cuttings of alfalfa are laying in windrows. Silage choppers are converting corn and cane into feed. We are just a few weeks from the beginning of combining corn, followed by milo.

Just as farmers are reaping the rewards of the growing season, our gardens are turning out ripe tomatoes to be canned. Cucumbers are pickled. Onions are drying. Chokecherries, wild grapes and plums have been jellied and apples are waiting their turn. It is all a lot of effort, but incredibly worthwhile.

I was lucky enough to have friends with a large sweet corn patch this year. Last month, we picked, shucked and processed dozens of ears in preparation for winter meals. There are a variety of methods for processing sweet corn, but I favor a simple approach. I don’t add extra butter, sugar, salt or cream. I prefer simply frozen sweet corn. Plain corn can be used in so many ways throughout the winter. I can add a handful to soups and stews, defrost and stir into salsas, add to pasta dishes, make the sweet corn gravy that I love for my deconstructed fish chowder or simply have sweet corn as a side dish.

While I may freeze simple sweet corn, the side dish needn’t be so plain. A copycat recipe for a famous brand’s Corn in Butter Sauce is always a winner for us. It is easy enough for weeknight suppers and dressed up enough to grace a holiday table. Sweet corn harvest is very much worth all the work for Corn in Butter Sauce on my plate.

Corn in Butter Sauce

Enjoy summer’s sweet corn all year long with recipes like corn in butter sauce.

3 cups frozen corn kernels

1/2 to 1 teaspoon salt

1/2 to 1 teaspoon sugar

4 tablespoons butter

1/2 cup water

1 teaspoon cornstarch

Combine corn (may defrost first, if desired), salt, sugar, and butter in a saucepan. Stir over medium heat until butter is melted and corn is heated through. Dissolve cornstarch into the water. Slowly add to the corn and stir thoroughly. Reduce heat and simmer until sauce thickens and corn is tender. (Serves 6)

Fran Hill has been blogging about food at On My Plate since October of 2006. She, her husband and their two dogs ranch near Colome.