There’s a certain kind of Chilliwack summer that lives on long after the last berry’s been picked. You know it: the counters cleared, the kettle going, tea towels everywhere, lids clinking in a pot, and that warm, steamy feeling in the kitchen that says,  we’re putting food by.  Even if you didn’t grow up canning, you probably grew up around someone who did—Grandma’s pickles, Auntie’s jam, a neighbour who “just had extra beans,” and a pantry shelf that quietly promised: winte