So-Sweet Squash Pickles

Monique came by Tuesday evening with a box of school supplies and a look on her face like a woman about to go to war. School starts next week. Hodge Elementary. My school. The school where I spent thirty-five years making sure children were fed, and where my granddaughter now teaches third grade, and where every August the hallways smell like floor wax and fresh starts and the particular anxiety of teachers who have not yet met the parents who will make their year either beautiful or unbearable.

She sat at Denise's kitchen table and labeled folders while I shelled butter beans. Two women doing their work side by side, the way women have always done. She told me about her class list — twenty-two children this year, three with IEPs, two who don't speak English at home, one who is repeating third grade. She knows their names already. She has read their files. She is prepared in the way that preparation allows, and terrified in the way that love requires.

I told her about the ones who used to come through my lunch line with that look — the quiet ones, the ones whose clothes didn't fit right, the ones who ate like they weren't sure when the next meal was coming. I told her to watch for the ones who don't ask for seconds. Those are the hungry ones. The ones who ask are fine — they've learned the world will give them what they need. It's the quiet ones you feed without being asked.

We shelled three pounds of butter beans while she labeled. Robert was in the living room pretending to watch television but really listening, because Robert listens the way some men breathe — constantly, without making a show of it. Denise was on the phone with Patricia, who was telling her about Wayne Jr. starting first grade in Jacksonville, which means two of my great-grandchildren are in school now and I am old enough to have opinions about their education, which I do, and which I share whether or not anyone has asked.

I cooked those butter beans Thursday with a ham hock from the freezer and rice and cornbread and we ate like it was Sunday, because sometimes a Wednesday needs to feel like a Sunday, and sometimes a woman about to walk into a classroom of twenty-two children she hasn't met yet needs to eat like somebody loves her. Somebody does. I packed Monique a container for her lunch on the first day. I wrote on the lid: "Feed them, baby. All the ways you can."

Now go on and feed somebody.

The small thirty-five years at the small Hodge Elementary School cafeteria are the small career-spine of Dorothy’s life. The small lunch-lady role had been the small everyday-presence for the small generation of Savannah kids. The small retirement in 2020 had been the small adjustment-period after the small thirty-five-year-tenure. The small Sunday-spread-at-the-Thunderbolt-house for the small grandkids is the small post-retirement-rhythm.

The small First African Baptist Church congregation continues to be the small social-and-spiritual home. The small Wednesday-night-prayer-meeting. The small Sunday-morning-service. The small choir Dorothy has sung in for thirty-two years. The small church-cookouts where Dorothy’s small contributions are the small expected-presence.

Earl passed in 2019 on Valentine’s Day. The small widow-life is in its small seventh year now. The small house in the small Thunderbolt-neighborhood of Savannah near the marsh continues to be the small Dorothy-residence. The small house is the small place Earl maintained and where Earl built the small raised-bed-garden. The small kitchen is the small heart of the small house.

Those butter beans came from the same raised-bed garden Earl built before he passed, and when the squash comes in heavy like it did this summer, I put it up the same way I always have — sweet brine, onion, a little turmeric to make it gold as morning. I send jars home with people the way I send containers of beans: because the point was never the food, really, it was the sending. Monique’s getting a jar of these to go with her first-day lunch, and I’ve already decided Patricia needs two for Jacksonville. Here’s how I make them.

Prep Time: 30 min + 1 hr salting | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 1 hr 45 min | Servings: 4 pints (about 32 servings)

Ingredients

2 lbs yellow summer squash, thinly sliced into rounds
2 medium sweet onions, thinly sliced
2 tablespoons canning salt (or non-iodized kosher salt)
2 cups granulated sugar
2 cups white distilled vinegar (5% acidity)
1 teaspoon mustard seed
1 teaspoon celery seed
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)

Instructions

Salt and rest. Combine sliced squash and onions in a large bowl. Sprinkle with canning salt, toss well to coat, and let sit for 1 hour. This draws out excess moisture so the pickles stay crisp. Drain, rinse thoroughly under cold water, and drain again. Press gently with a clean towel to remove extra liquid.
Make the brine. In a large non-reactive pot, combine sugar, vinegar, mustard seed, celery seed, turmeric, and red pepper flakes if using. Stir over medium heat until sugar is fully dissolved and the brine comes to a gentle boil.
Add the vegetables. Add the drained squash and onions to the brine. Return to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally, and cook for 5 minutes. The squash should be just tender but still hold its shape — do not overcook.
Pack the jars. Using sterilized tongs and a canning funnel, ladle the hot squash and onions into clean, sterilized pint jars, packing lightly. Pour hot brine over the top, leaving 1/2 inch headspace. Remove air bubbles by running a thin spatula or chopstick around the inside edge. Wipe rims clean and seal with lids and bands finger-tight.
Process (optional for shelf storage). For shelf-stable storage, process sealed jars in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes. Remove and let cool undisturbed on a towel for 12 to 24 hours. Any jar that does not seal properly should be refrigerated and used within 3 weeks. Sealed jars keep in a cool, dark place for up to 1 year.
Rest before eating. For best flavor, let the pickles sit for at least 24 hours before opening — the brine needs time to settle into the squash. They are worth the wait.

Nutrition (per serving, approx. 3 tablespoons)

So-Sweet Squash Pickles — From the Garden Earl Built, to the Table He Left Behind