Behind the veneer-skinned hollow-core door of a sheetrock room, more a basement closet than walk-in cellar, rows of Mason jars filled with tomatoes, peaches, beets, green beans, and okra grin from plywood shelves like skulls stacked in the hand-carved catacombs of ancient ossuaries, objects of remembrance not of mortality but reminders that our acts persist beyond our deaths and blesséd are the ones who know the rites and rituals that preserve memories that persist through the starving seasons of our lives and feed our hunger in our times of need.