August is the colorful time in the kitchen. Even if one doesn't can the abundant garden and orchard produce and place the gleaming glass jars on some open shelf to be admired, there is usually a little basket of yellow, pink-rouged peaches atop some table or counter. Red tomatoes are lined up on a windowsill to further ripen or fill a green glass dish for a centerpiece. Some prefer a table decoration of a purple satin eggplant surrounded by green and red peppers. I've even seen a wooden bowl of scrubbed red potatoes taking that honored place. They speak of simplicity and sturdiness.

Niece Ann has an old-fashioned cabinet with multiple open shelves. Every time I visit, the shelves are filled with jars of green dilly beans, red apple rings, yellow pickled peaches, purple plums and other colorful things. Little lace doilies hang halfway over the edge of the shelves, making a pleasant edging, so suitable for a vintage cabinet. "You saw that somewhere in "Country Living" or "Better Homes and Gardens," I accuse, admiring the picturesque piece. She only smiles and takes down a shiny jar of nectarine and peach marmalade to serve with our luncheon.

I feel a little guilty for being the cause of disturbing her picture perfect shelves. But I've found that the very next day a new unopened colorful jar of something else has filled the empty space. I think she must have a cellar full of pretties to keep that cabinet decor intact.

In Mama's and Grandma's day it was proper to fill shelves in the cellar with such goodies. A ritual among neighboring housewives was to be invited into the cellars of others at the beginning of fall to see what had been accomplished during summer. "Mrs. Bell, I see you don't have many canned pears," someone might say.

"No, our trees are getting old."

"Well, nevermind. I've got plenty. More than we'll ever use."

In my canning days, lacking a cellar, all the canned goods went to the basement shelves where no one was ever invited to admire or compliment me for my summer's industry, there being so much other stuff there -- old cracked crocks, broken-down chairs, a six-foot stack of old magazines, etc.

I now have two long open shelves on one side of my kitchen. There is an old clock there, a carnival glass pitcher, a stack of assorted napkins, etc. etc.

Now, during this peak of harvest, I'm of a notion to bring up my empty Mason jars from the basement, wash them until they shine, buy some cans of peaches, beets, green beans, etc., give them a little heat treatment and fill my glass jars. New lids, of course. Set them all in a lovely row on my long shelves for my visitors to admire. The clock and other stuff would be banished to the basement.

It'll never work. I wouldn't be able to sleep the very first night. From the basement the muffled striking of the accusing clock at midnight, would wake me and I'd struggle to remember the rest of the lines that surely would have come to me that day -- "Oh what a tan-gled web we weave when first de-ceive." That fits the 12 strident strikes but (sleepily) wasn't it, "prac-tice to de-ceive? My clock doesn't strike that many. Still more groggy, "I'll call 'em up tomorrow and tell 'em what I did. No I won't either." The clock strikes three, saying "Yes, you will!"

REJOICE

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime columnist for the Southeast Missourian.