When Sarah showed up with two flats of strawberries, it seemed a pity to waste any of them. So I gave one to Marion, and in exchange, she invited me over to do some . . . jamming.
I have made jam, but it’s been many years. I did seem to remember that it’s a lot of work . . . and I was right. Here I am, stemming strawberries. Lots and lots of strawberries.
And here is the end result.
I had some on toast, and it set up nicely and tastes wonderful. We’ll have jam all winter.
Not a bad way to spend a day, but it gave me renewed respect for our foremothers who spent days in the kitchen — without air conditioning — canning the produce of their gardens. Billy tells me his mother Irma canned everything — when she wasn’t milking the cow and making butter and cottage cheese.
The good old days . . . I’m happy with my good new days!