The Story of Canning

Long before supermarkets and freezers, people searched for ways to hold on to the harvest. In the late 1700s, the French army needed food that could last for long journeys. A man named Nicolas Appert experimented with jars, heat, and sealing, and discovered a way to “lock time” inside a glass vessel. His invention—what we now call canning—was the spark that changed how people preserved food forever.

Through the 1800s, canning spread across Europe and America. Families carried jars westward in covered wagons, sailors packed tin cans for voyages, and homesteaders filled their pantries to make it through long winters. A jar wasn’t just food—it was survival, comfort, and hope.

For Black people in America, preservation carried an even deeper weight. Enslaved Africans brought with them knowledge of drying, fermenting, pickling, and storing food—traditions rooted in West African survival skills. On plantations, after grueling days of labor, many tended small gardens and preserved what little they grew: okra, sweet potatoes, beans, fruits, and greens. They salted, dried, and later canned, not just to feed their families, but to protect fragments of culture and self-reliance in the face of oppression. Preservation was resistance—it meant survival, care, and memory when freedom was denied.

After emancipation, these traditions endured. In the Reconstruction era and Jim Crow South, canning and preserving were lifelines. Black families leaned on gardens, jars, and community gatherings to ensure food security and pass down recipes. Churches and women’s groups became centers of both spiritual and practical nourishment, with shelves of jars standing as symbols of resilience and resourcefulness.

By the early 1900s, canning was everywhere in America. During the World Wars, preserving food became a patriotic duty. Victory Gardens bloomed in backyards, and kitchens filled with the sound of jars sealing tight. But for many Black households, this wasn’t new—it was a continuation of traditions carried for generations.

Even as modern refrigeration arrived, canning never disappeared. In kitchens across cultures—Black, white, immigrant, rural, and urban—jars lined shelves as reflections of care and heritage. A jar of peaches, pickles, or tomato sauce wasn’t just food; it was identity preserved.

Today, canning has come full circle. What was once born out of necessity has become a choice, a lifestyle, and a way to reclaim heritage. For many, especially in Black communities, it’s also a way to honor ancestors whose hands picked, salted, dried, and sealed food in the name of survival. Every sealed jar is more than preservation; it’s memory, culture, and soul captured for tomorrow.