Most of the garden has been put to bed for another year. The only vegetables remaining are a few beets and carrots that are protected from the freezing, mid-fall weather by the soil that surrounds them.

Bushels of red, yellow and white potatoes are stored in newspaper-lined baskets in a cool cellar, and the few winter squash that managed to grow despite an unusually wet and cold garden season are tucked under a bed in an upstairs, unheated bedroom.

The cornstalks and pumpkins placed on a carpet of yellow and red leaves decorate the mail box and porch posts.

This has been a less than stellar growing season at a time when most of us are trying to find ways to cut costs on everything, including food.

But, some bounty did make it and was preserved, and for that, I am thankful.

One of my greatest joys is to can vegetables, and make pickles, jams and jellies. Once each batch of whatever it is that I made is labeled, I line the jars up, stand back, admire them, and know that I have continued a tradition that our ancestors have been doing for generations.

My pantry, though less filled this year than in past years, is beautiful. Rows upon rows of neatly labeled whole plum and cut-up tomatoes in pint, half-pint, and quart jars, a couple dozen jars of sour mustard and dill pickles, yellow and green beans, either whole or cut-up, line the shelves that my mother lovingly built decades ago.

When friends who don’t follow this tradition come to visit during the autumn of the year, they insist on opening the pantry door and staring at the contents.

Another smaller pantry contains all the sweets – clear, pink apple jelly made from old-time Wealthies picked from trees that still grow on our farm, blueberries from southern Oxford County, elderberry jelly made from these tiny purple, cluster berries that were foraged from bushes along back roads, jams made with strawberries from Farmington, raspberry jam from a friend’s backyard berry patch, and rhubarb jam made from the patch growing behind our house. Blackberries didn’t make it this year, and choke cherries are getting increasingly difficult to find.

Most of my friends and family don’t can or make jelly any more. It’s a lot of work, they say, and it is. But for me, there are several rock solid reasons for spending most of my free time in the summer and fall preparing for the winter months ahead.

The sense of satisfaction probably tops the list.

I know where the food came from. I planted much of it, nurtured it, admired it and harvested it. Then I cut it up and preserved it. I know what’s in it. I also know that anything successfully home canned tastes far better than anything bought at the supermarket. One year I ran out of my own canned tomatoes and had to buy some in the local grocery store. That reminded me. That may happen this year, too, because the crop was so much less than usual.

Seeing the results of my own labor is a feeling that is not equal to anything else.

The second big reason, and just about as important, is the knowledge that I am continuing a tradition.

The world has changed dramatically in the past few decades. We are assaulted by communication devices, television, the Internet and a host of other electronics 24-hours-a-day. Busyness has sped up as fast as electronic innovations have advanced.

But growing and preserving our own food is so basic to life as well as a chance to slow down a bit, savor the growing, harvesting, preserving and eating.

Much of the bounty, particularly the jellies and pickles, will be Christmas gifts.

So as I wrap up this year and take a break before planning for the next gardening season, I step back, think about what worked and what didn’t. Despite my grumbling and complaining about this and that throughout the season, I smile. For I am grateful.