I grew up on a farm. My dad always planted a large garden every spring. It produced a bountiful harvest, and my parents preserved green beans, tomato juice, tomatoes, cabbages, beets, carrots, corn, and pickles . . . enough to feed a family of seven through the winter months.

Many farmhouses had a “summer kitchen.” It was a second kitchen—a large room away from the main part of the house—that was used for the hot process of canning jars of fresh produce. An old, gas stove sat in the corner of the room. My mom taught me from an early age to respect the hidden pilot light underneath the burner that remained continuously lit . . .