Sauerkraut

by Kelly Jones

  The food processor filled up fast. “Should I dump it right in the crock?” I asked.

  “Yes, put it into the crock,” Oma said. “Now we sprinkle it with salt, and add the juniper, and mix it around.”

  So I sprinkled salt in until Oma said to stop. Oma added the juniper berries herself.

  “Now, mix it around, yes, with your hands—CLEAN hands! Now then, yes, like that.”

  It felt like making a sandcastle out of crunchy seaweed. I let Eli pound it while I washed the salt off my hands.

  When Oma told him to stop, the cabbage looked kind of wet, with little black juniper balls mixed in.

  “Is it supposed to look like that?” I asked her.

  “Yes, juice comes out of the cabbage and mixes with the salt, and that makes the brine,” she said. “More cabbage, please!”

  So I cut up the next cabbage. Since he’d finished washing all the cabbages, Eli made us all iced teas with lemonade, including the ghost, so she wouldn’t feel left out. We sipped our drinks while Oma sliced the cabbage and sang along with Ella Fitzgerald, when we could hear the music over the food processor. It turned out Oma had listened to her back in her day too.

  Eli made up a tap dance for “Mack the Knife,” and we all clapped and cheered, until he crashed into the table and Mom stuck her head in again and suggested he take a break.

  Every few minutes, the food processor would fill up, and Oma would hover over me and remind me what to do while I dumped the cabbage into the crock and added salt, even after I told her that thanks, I thought I’d got the hang of it. Then she’d add the juniper, and Eli and I would mix and pound it.

  When I cut up the last cabbage, Eli started announcing again. “HD passes the last cabbage chunk to Mrs. S.! Mrs. S. drops the cabbage straight into the chute—she’s pressing the button now—and GOAL! All the cabbage is sliced! Now it’s back to HD. He dumps the cabbage into the crock—he sprinkles it with salt—Mrs. S. adds her special ingredient—HD mixes it up—and Eli picks up the kraut pounder and starts pounding it—yeah, carefully, I know. Mrs. S. tells HD to put the cabbage leaves on the very top and…the crowd waits to see what Mrs. S. thinks.”

  Oma was examining the crock. It was almost full of cabbage and salt. Mom was right: that was going to be a lot of sauerkraut.

  “We will check it again tomorrow. If enough juice has not come out of the cabbage, we must add brine made with water,” Oma said. “The cabbage must be covered in brine, or mold could form.”

  “Got it,” I told her. I picked up the box of salt and weighed it again. I wrote down the current weight, then subtracted it from our starting weight, so I could write down how much salt we’d actually used. Then I measured out the juniper berries, and subtracted that from the original amount too. Oma might be a sauerkraut expert, but I thought the judges might want real measurements.

  “Can I see?” Mom asked, coming in and peeking into the crock.

  Oma smiled. She floated over and got the pencil and paper. Do you make sauerkraut?

  Mom said, “No, but—”

  Then I heard Dad’s Fiat pull up into the driveway. “Um, Oma, do you think it’s making enough brine?” I asked her, poking the cabbage leaves with the kraut pounder.

  Mom slipped out of the kitchen.

  I heard the front door open.

  “Not yet,” Oma told me. “It may take longer. Put the lid on now, and fill the channel with water, so the sauerkraut can breathe but mold cannot get inside.”

  “Uh, I don’t think this cabbage is still alive,” Eli said as I carefully set the lid into the groove around the top of the crock. “Not after we cut it up and pounded it. How can it breathe?”

  “As the cabbage turns to sauerkraut, gases will form,” Oma explained. “The gases float up around the lid, through the water in this channel—yes, pour it right in here, Hans Dieter—stop! Not so much it overflows! Yes, exactly like that.”

  “It’s like a moat, but for sauerkraut,” Eli said. “The lid sticks up out of it like a castle, and the sauerkraut waits down in the dungeon underneath.”

  “No, no, the sauerkraut is down in the treasure vault,” Oma corrected. “The mold tries to break into the sauerkraut, but it cannot get in through the water.”

  Mom was telling Dad and Asad something in the other room, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying, what with Eli and the ghost discussing what a mold-knight versus water-knight battle would look like.

  “I want to see!” Asad yelled, and ran into the kitchen. Then he stopped.

  Mom and Dad followed him in. Dad was looking around, but his eyes didn’t stop on the ghost.

  Asad looked right up at the ghost, who was floating next to me, waiting exactly like Mom had asked her to. “You don’t look like my grandmom at all.”

  So, fine. Asad could see the ghost, and he wasn’t freaking out the way I had when I first met her. Even my little brother would make a better Man in Black than I would. “That’s because Grandmom Davis is Mom’s mom, not Dad’s mom. You probably don’t remember Grandma Schenk, because she moved away before you were born, and you were really little last time we saw her,” I told him. “Oma, this is my little brother, Asad Schenk.”

  “How nice to meet you, Asad,” Oma said, smiling.

  “We can call her Oma—it means ‘grandma.’ Although she’s actually our great-great-grandma. Got it?” I said.

  “How come she gets to use the food processor?” Asad wanted to know.

  I frowned at him. “Just because she’s a ghost doesn’t mean she can’t hear you, so be polite. She’s a lot older than you, and she knows how to be responsible, and not put things in the food processor that she’s not supposed to.”

  Dad was staring at us, like he didn’t know what to say.

  “Hi, Mr. Schenk,” Eli said. “Do you smell anything?”

  Dad sniffed. “Cabbage?”

  “Anything sweet?” Eli asked.

  Dad sniffed again. “Maybe?”

  “Great job!” Eli said, making a note. “That’s Mrs. S.’s violet soap.”

  “Can you hear me, Hans Peter?” the ghost said, very softly.

  “Did you hear anything, Mr. Schenk?” Eli asked.

  Dad shook his head, looking from Eli to me, to Asad, to Mom.

  “It’s okay, Dad,” I told him. “Oma just said hello to you.”

  “Mrs. Schenk, could you please give Mrs. S. the pencil so she can say hello herself?” Eli asked Mom.

  Mom held up the pencil and the notepad. She only flinched a tiny bit when Oma grabbed them. But, obviously, Mom’s brave. She was a soldier.

  Oma: Hello, Hans Peter. It is nice to meet you.

  Dad’s brave too, of course, same as Mom. He grabbed Mom’s hand for a minute, but he didn’t step back. And he only hesitated a little bit before he picked up the pencil that Oma had set down.

  Dad: Nice to meet you too, Oma. My dad used to tell me stories about spending time with you when he was a kid.

  Oma: He remembered me? What did he remember?

  Dad: Well…I remember him telling me about the cakes you used to bake.

  Oma: My Gugelhupf! He did like that, yes. But today we are making sauerkraut, not cake. Which do you prefer: sauerkraut or sauerruben?

  Dad: What is sauerruben?

  Oma: Your mother never made it? From turnips, instead of cabbage? You have this wonderful food processor and yet you do not make sauerruben?

  Dad: Sorry. I guess not. My mother wasn’t much of a cook.

  Oma: Hans Dieter and Eli and I will make you some, after we finish the sauerkraut.

  Dad: Thanks, I guess. It’s nice to have you here, Great-Grandma. So—how long are you planning to stay?

  Oma didn’t bother to answer that one. Or maybe she didn’t know.

  “Come see what your brother and his
friend have helped me make,” Oma told Asad, floating over.

  “Can you pick me up?” Asad asked the ghost.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mom said, in the voice that means “no way, nohow.”

  “Here, check it out.” I picked up Asad, and carefully lifted the lid. It made a burping noise when it came out of the water.

  Asad giggled. “Excuse YOU, Grandma!”

  Oma smiled and shook her head.

  “Hey, Oma, there’s more brine now,” I told her, looking in.

  Asad peered into the crock. “What is that going to be?”

  Oma beamed. “It will be my famous sauerkraut! It will win the county fair!”

  Asad sniffed it, and made a face. “I’m not eating that.”

  “Yeah, you might be too little to appreciate it,” I said, and set him down. Something told me that Oma wasn’t going to be telling Mom and Dad how helpful Asad was.

  “Now, Hans Dieter, we must put a plate on top of the cabbage leaves—no, that one will not fit in the crock—yes, like that, and one more on top. Put it in—ah, yes, that will weigh them down, so the cabbage stays under the brine….”

  “So, what do you two have planned for tomorrow?” Mom asked as we sat down for dinner.

  Oma grabbed her pencil, wrote something down, and held it up like a sign. First we must check the brine, to make sure it covers the cabbage.

  I sighed. Another day of sauerkraut.

  “Actually, I was talking to HD and Eli,” Mom said, studying my face. “It’s their first week of summer vacation, and, last I heard, they’ve got big plans. I’m sure they’ll help you when they can, but you could probably check the brine on your own just this once, couldn’t you?”

  Oma grumbled a little, then wrote, Very well.

  Huh. Maybe Aunt Nia had a point.

  “What’s on your list?” Mom asked again.

  “I’m going to practice for my recital!” Eli said. “Ms. Izdebski’s on vacation, so we have to practice on our own, and make our own costumes this year. HD said he’d help.”

  “And…?” Mom asked him, eyebrows raised.

  Eli thought for a minute. “And call my mom, between nine and noon!”

  “Eli can call his mom, and then we can take the goats over to Maple Falls,” I told Mom. “A scientist who studies crows is coming to speak, and Mr. Z. asked them to open the rec room doors so we see her from the lawn.”

  “I forgot about that,” Eli said. “Awesome!”

  “After that, we should probably take the goats to Uncle Gregor’s with us,” I said. “We can start working on their obstacle course, and then I can start on sorting out the basement, and Eli can practice his routine.”

  Dad nodded. “Some science, some fun, and some work—I like it. Just be home in time to do your chores before dinner.”

  “Eli, does that sound good to you?” Mom asked.

  “It sounds great!” Eli said.

  “I want to come too!” Asad wailed.

  “You’ve got camp tomorrow, buddy,” Dad said. “And then you promised Gloria and Ernie you’d draw some more pictures for the shop. Remember?”

  Asad thought about that. “Okay,” he said finally, still grumpy.

  Mom turned to where Oma’s pencil was floating. “Marietta, what are your plans for tomorrow?”

  Oma underlined what she had already written, and held it up. “You will have time, before you leave,” she told me, a little defensively.

  I sighed. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t end up being just one thing I had to help her with. Not with Oma and sauerkraut. But she was right, I could make time. “Okay, we’ll help you first,” I told her.

  Dad looked at me. “Hey, Oma, Asad and I missed out on helping you make the sauerkraut. Could we help you check the brine tomorrow?”

  Oma looked surprised, then a little uncertain. Yes, thank you, she wrote at last.

  Dad nodded. “We’ll do that before I take Asad to camp, then. Will you be okay all day while we’re gone?” He hesitated. “HD, should we leave the TV on or something?”

  But Oma was already writing again. I will go with HD.

  “Uh, Mrs. S., that might be kind of tricky, now that your crock is all full of sauerkraut,” Eli said. “What if it fell over and spilled?”

  Then we would make sauerkraut again, Oma wrote. I have spent more than fifty years alone. Now I want to spend time with my grandson.

  “You mean your great-great-grandson,” Eli pointed out.

  “Maybe we should let HD and Eli do their own thing tomorrow,” Mom said. “We’ll see them at dinner, after all.”

  But I was thinking it over. Oma had been lonely for a long time. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but I still felt bad for her. Would taking her along stop me from doing my thing? Not really, I decided—at least, not if we left on time.

  Some superheroes have handlers—people who make things work smoothly for them in the world. Like the Avengers had Nick Fury and Agent Coulson and Agent Hill. I guess Oma had already decided that I would be her handler.

  Maybe I wasn’t the only person who could see the ghost. Maybe I freaked out some when I first met her—more than Asad did, anyway. (Although he hadn’t met her in Uncle Gregor’s spooky basement, and he had a heads-up first. I like to think I’d have done better under those conditions too.) But I got over it, and did my research, and I’d had a lot of practice helping her since then, figuring out her Grand Purpose and making sauerkraut. So maybe I was the right person for the job after all.

  “Okay,” I told her. “You can come too.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Mom went to work, and Dad made pancakes for us. Then he and Asad helped Oma check the sauerkraut while Eli called his mom and I figured out how to take a crock full of sauerkraut with us to Maple Falls.

  First I thought about what my design needed to do: get a heavy crock to Maple Falls without falling over, sloshing, spilling, or rattling around.

  Next I gathered my supplies and tools: the wagon, a bunch of towels, masking tape, two bungee cords, the old hammock, some string, a pair of scissors, and a clean water bottle.

  After that I went to see how Dad and Asad and Oma were doing.

  Just in time too. “What’s sauerruben?” Asad asked.

  “We will make it! All we will need is some turnips, and another box of salt—”

  “Hey, Oma, do you still want to come?” I asked. (I know interrupting is rude, but it would be impossible to wait until Oma was done discussing sauerkraut, and sauer- everything else.)

  “Yes, I will go with you,” Oma said, floating over.

  “Okay,” I said. “Dad, can you bring Oma’s crock out to the wagon for me?”

  Sometimes people think Dad can’t lift heavy stuff, or drive, or do much of anything since he lost part of his leg. But Dad’s really strong, and Mom says he went right back to working out once he got his new leg fitted. He has a special leg that can handle all the heavy stuff he has to lift at the auto body shop, so Oma’s crock was no big deal for him. Uncle Gregor said he should train up and try out for the Paralympics. But Dad told him he has his hands full with the shop and all of us right now. Too bad; it would have been cool to go see him compete.

  Dad set the crock in the wagon. “Are you going to be able to get this out again safely?”

  I bent my knees and tried lifting the crock. It was heavy when it was empty, and it was way heavier full. The handles wouldn’t make it easy for me and Eli to lift it together either. “Oma, you might have to stay in the kitchen at Uncle Gregor’s, with the wagon—I’m not sure I can carry your crock all the way down to the basement. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes,” Oma said. “I never wish to see that basement again. Does Gregor make sauerkraut?”

  “We’re good,” I told Dad.
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br />   He nodded, and helped me pack the towels around the crock, tape the lid down so it wouldn’t bounce, and wrap bungee cords around the neck of the crock, hooking them over the sides of the wagon. I tied the hammock over the top, and Dad jostled the wagon to see if everything was secure, then gave me a thumbs-up. “What’s the water for?” he asked.

  “In case the water in the moat sloshes out,” I told him. “That way we can refill it, hopefully before any mold spores get in.”

  “Done!” Eli said, shutting the door behind him.

  “How’s your mom doing?” Dad asked. “Did you tell her about, er, our guest?”

  “She’s good,” Eli said. “Yeah, I told her, but she just said I have an astonishing imagination.” He shrugged and smiled. “Once she gets home and Mrs. S. can write to her, she’ll see.”

  Dad looked relieved. “Great. Anything else you two need before Asad and I head out? HD, you’ve got your keys, right?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” I said, patting my pocket. “We’re good. Really.”

  It was a beautiful morning—not too hot, not too cool. People say it always rains near Seattle, and yeah, it rains, but not every day. The goats were ready for some exercise, so after they tried to knock each other off their playhouse, they came over and let Oma and Eli pet them while I clipped their leashes onto their collars.

  It doesn’t take long to get to Maple Falls, even with goats trying to jump in your wagon and a ghost shooing them out and telling them to behave. A few people stared at us, but that might have been the goats, not Oma. They didn’t stop driving, so we couldn’t ask.

  “Guess what, Mr. Z.?” Eli yelled across the lawn. “HD glued the lid back together, and I can see the ghost now too!” He and Rodgers jogged over to Mr. Z.’s chair, and Rodgers stuck his face in Mr. Z.’s bag of carrot sticks.

  Hammerstein strained toward Mr. Z., and I pulled the wagon and followed him over.