This is building character
It was berry picking day.
Red raspberries were on my radar. I’d picked enough for a few jars of jam and a pie in June and was so pleased with the results that I decided to return to get even more berries this morning from the bushes that were so productive just a few weeks ago.
To me the jam that resulted from my first go around was the best I’d ever made. The jam was…well this is hard to describe, so the best I can do beyond delicious is “bright.”
Why it was so good was a mystery. I used the same old one cup of crushed fruit to one cup of sugar recipe, the same one that I use for most jams.
But this time the jam was singular. Maybe it was that special something to which wine grape growers refer, a special collaboration of rain, temperature and the soil called terroir.
I guess I could claim that.
Why not?
Anticipating this morning’s effort, I had visions of shelves full of jars of glistening delectableness ready for gifting at Christmas.
I’ve made so much jam this summer, (rhubarb strawberry, red raspberry and black raspberry), berry picking and jam making being two of the things that a semi immobile person can still do, I had no empty jam jars.
Yesterday I scoured the stores for interesting jars and lids. You know, the kind that are just that little bit different in the way that says “what a pretty jar.”
I bought 24 new jam jars. I fully intended to fill them tomorrow.
Today my plan was to be at the berry patch by 9 a.m. at the latest, but life happens and I arrived closer to 10:30 a.m. armed with my berry baskets and my trusty cane.
I really should have come earlier, more like last week. The once heavily laden berry bushes were reduced to carriers of dried bits of what were once large and succulent raspberries.
Guess the heat got to them. It sure got to me which is why I didn’t go berry picking last week. This was a kind of negative terroir if there is such a thing.
But I was there. I am patient and I persisted.
It took an hour to pick less than a pint. Few of the berries were easily visible, hiding under the denser foliage, mostly on the west side of the bushes, out of the direct rays of the morning sun.
They had only a passing similarity to the first that I picked. They won’t make it into jam. We’ll put them on cereal or I’ll make a sauce for pancakes.
My splurge on the new jars will not be in vain because these red raspberries produce two crops. One in early summer and the other in the fall.
I will be on the alert this fall, hoping that the terroir that produced the early berries repeats itself.
Now while berry picking and jam making are not what one would call significant work, it is to me.
It is part of the legacy of my youth, perhaps not critical to world affairs or lower taxes, but it is something that I can do and do well.
Who doesn’t enjoy completing tasks that one does well?
There are so many things I don’t do well. There are things I hate to do, things that I do because it is required, things that are done but not well.
Yes, doing things that are difficult builds character, so I am told and so I believe, but given the choice, I opt for the success that comes more easily because you have honed a skill.
Which is why I make the bed every day no matter what. It’s not a big thing, but it gives me pleasure to see the smooth coverlet and fluffed pillows done well.
I can start my day with a small sense of pride.
I always feel that the time spent at the berry patch, amidst the sounds of nature is better than many of the things I could be doing.
Weeding my flower border, doing the laundry, dusting or vacuuming can’t compare.
While I am not Mrs. Smuckers, I do make interesting preserves.
Have you ever had rhubarb and gooseberry jam? If I can track down some gooseberries, I do have a few stalks of rhubarb left and some in the freezer and I can buy more jars.
