Why I would have made a crummy pioneer:

There are lots of reasons for this, actually. My (lacking) sense of direction would have put me over a cliff, or right back where I started from. I'm pretty live-and-let-live when it comes to patterns so clothing would have been a sight. Any meat that begins to resemble its origins sends me into a gagging fit (and that includes boneless skinless chicken breasts) and the thought of wearing skins leaves me clammy. All of this would no doubt be enough to convince the casual observer that I am not cut out of the pioneer cloth. For those with still a twinge of doubt, let me tell you a little story.

Once upon a time Today I was handed a 20lb box of peaches. Some were very ripe, some were not, but they were fresh from the tree and the first I've had in years. Instantly I had visions of shelves of gleaming preserves, all effortlessly put up by yours truly, that we could enjoy all winter long (total side note, but did you hear our esteemed meteorologists are calling for a very harsh winter? Lots of bitter cold and precipitation. Yippee). First, Henri and I sampled a peach. And then we compared it to one from the bottom of the box. And then one from the middle. And then I cut Henri off because she wasn't letting me have a bite.



The peaches



Next, we made a peach cobbler. And by we I mean I made it, Henri mooched bites of peaches. So far, so good, right? Cobbler is a pioneery thing to make, just peaches and sugar boiled with a nice soft drop biscuit on top. While the reviews weren't raving at supper, I noticed there wasn't much left for tomorrows breakfast.

I know, this story is going nowhere fast. But hold on, because after supper is where it got fun. To have gleaming shelves of preserves, one must preserve them. I have none of the "suggested" (required) equipment, but neither did the pioneers, right? And following exact recipes has never been my thing (see first paragraph re: patterns). With a link from Allrecipes and blind faith in my abilities, I started chopping and peeling and mixing and boiling. First problem, only 3 jars were short enough to fit into my stock pot. No problem, I'd make one big jar of refrigerator pickles out of the remnants that didn't fit.

The fridge pickles

The water with the sterilizing jars started boiling about the moment the brine for the pickles (oh yeah, forgot to mention I was making pickles, NOT preserves or jam) started to boil, instantly rendering breathing impossible (but at least the house has been well fumigated). Jars have to be hot, so you need to work somewhat quickly. As I don't have jar lifters, I wrapped rubber bands around some kitchen tongs and pulled my jars out. Pretty genius, right? Except there are grooves in the tongs and you have to hold them in such a way that boiling water ran down them and I now sport a second degree (feels like 4th degree) burn on my wrist and forearm.
I've received plenty of burns in my lifetime (electrical, chemical (battery acid), and normal hot stuff touching you kinds) and the reaction is always the same. Not sure how everything got placed down without breaking it, and I'm holding the afflicted part under cold water with a weird sensation of the sweats. Needless to say it went downhill from there.
I overfilled the jars with peaches so when I added the brine it poured everywhere (2 cups of sugar in that vinegar; HUGE mess). Then the pot really wasn't big enough so water boiled out and flooded my stove. Everything, including the floor, was pure stick, and somehow it turned 10000 degrees in the kitchen all at once. Also my wrist hurt. And H was put to bed somewhere in there and was screaming.
And when the smoke finally cleared (figuratively speaking, there was too much water from the pot for an actual fire to break out), I was left with three jars of peaches.

Notice my fancy jar retriever thingy

And this:

That's every pot I own but one...

I would have starved as a pioneer.