Natural Gas Explosion

One of the staples of the farm kitchen is the pressure cooker. We bought one early on for canning green beans and tomato products from our garden. Gardening was a wonderfully fun experience for the children when they were little--for about fifteen minutes the day we planted, thirty minutes in the middle of summer under the shaded cool of overgrown bean poles, and perhaps a whole five minutes in late summer when we snapped mature beans.  

 

Children running to the garden for clues in the treasure hunt.



 

Party in the garden.

In the years since, I have grown to love our pressure cooker for those don't-have-time-to-wait moments.  At least once I have realized everyone is expecting "Grammy's Stew" for supper--with roast beef, cooked carrots and potatoes--but the roast is still in the freezer at 2 p.m. No problem.  Defrost the roast in the microwave.  Crank up the pressure cooker once for the meat. Cool and open.  Add veggies. Crank it up once again. Voila!  Dinner is served.

Our dinner plans changed yesterday and with snow on the way, chili and cinnamon rolls seemed the perfect  choice. Unfortunately, the only beans I had were dry. Pressure cooker! After getting kids out the door for school and starting laundry, I whipped out the instruction manual. 

They needed to boil and soak. After that I covered them with extra water, locked on the lid, and set the 15-pound weight on the nozzle. As per the instructions, I turned the stove to medium heat and worked nearby until the weight started rocking. From that point it would take 30 minutes. I could combine the ingredients in the crock pot to mingle until suppertime--at 11:00 a.m. I was way ahead of schedule!

I was reaching for a can of tomatoes from the wall cupboard when the room filled with a horrendous hissing followed by a piercing "pop." When I turned toward the stove, liquid beans spewed upward in a geyser, spattering the ceiling, the walls, the counters, and floor. There was nothing I could do!! I looked for cover, wondering if the pot would explode or if the lid would separate from the pot and soar across the kitchen. The only shelter would take me closer to the hissing pot. There was nowhere to hide, so I stood my ground. Screaming--first from alarm, then horror. Beans dripped from the ceiling, cupboards and overhead fan. Grace, who was home sick for the day, came running upstairs to see what was wrong.

 

It may not look bad, but I cleaned bean sludge for 3 and 1/2 hours. Beans coated our cell phone docking port and earpieces. The salt and pepper shakers no longer had any holes. Bean goo, once dried, creates its own cement force field, locking in freshness--and not so freshness. I thought the worst of it was over until I pulled the stove our from the wall. There is no picture. There was shame.  My behind-the-stove-sin was covered in at least a quart of bean soup.

Over and over, I was thankful for God's protective hand.  I didn't want to think about what could have happened.... but thought this picture summed it up:
 

Another farm experience lived, survived, laughed at, shared.  Yes, we had chili and cinnamon rolls for supper--and on my way to the store to buy canned beans I looked in the rear view mirror and caught a glimpse of  crusted beans on my eyebrow!  Oh, crumb.  On days like today, it's good to know Jesus.