Hoarders Anonymous

My name is Alyssa, and I'm a hoarder. *

Hello, Alyssa.

I've been this way ever since I can remember. I supposed I could blame my parents for exposing me to the idea at an impressionable age...but my therapist says that assigning blame is only an excuse for what is really  my own fault. A blunt man, is my therapist. **

Most of the year, the urge to store and collect is kept under wraps. At least, I can keep it to a manageble level--enough that not many people notice, or if they do, they don't seem to understand what a compelling thing it is, how I can't control it.

But summer begins, and I lose it completely.

Once that garden is freshly tilled, I itch to get seeds in the ground. Everything grows, the squash and zucchini start to multiply exponentially, the tomatoes get red. I fight the birds for the sweet cherries in the orchard. I lead forays into the black raspberry patches, with the battle cry, "No berry left behind!"

Then there's the actual canning and freezing process, which is hot and sticky and wonderfully tasty. I can't say enough about how much fun it is, even though my feet hurt at the end and my hair needs jam scrubbed out of it.

But the true expression of the Hoarder Complex is the intense satisfaction I feel when I see all of the shiny, colorful jars of food stored against the winter. The shelves in the cellar are sagging in the middle from the brown beans, green beans, dilly beans, peaches, pears, blueberries, strawberries, squash, potatos, tomatoes, tomato juice, spagetti sauce, jams and jellies, and so many other things.

So yes, Hoarders Anon., I am a proud member of this society. And I think I always will be. And you know what? that's ok. I'll always have enough to eat during the winter.

*This may sound somewhat psychotic. I'm not really a hoarder, you know. I just like canning food. Just so you know.
**And no, I don't actually have a therapist. I wouldn't know what to do with one if I did have it, except feed it.