My paternal grandmother raised 7 boys and a girl in 1930s Saskatchewan. A widow, she kept mean geese, a kind dog and an army of hunting cats. She also made pickles. Dill pickles. Holy Mother of God dill pickles.
We shall never see their like again.
Primarily because they were a total pain in the ass to make. It's a wonder anyone got fed, or watered, or that the chickens were plucked, the pigs slaughtered, the well water drawn, etc., with all the work that went into making those pickles.
My brother-in-law Charles, goddess of pickles, has this amazing recipe/technique that works every time, takes almost no time, and leaves one feeling tingly with achievement.
If you want it, email me.
And believe me, you want it.