She asked if I wanted to make more strawberry jam. I looked at the jars and jars we'd filled, the jars I had stacked next to the dog food and in every available space in the overflow food cupboard, and I said no.
If I could, I'd go back to that moment and kick myself in the behind.
Because there is nothing in the world that compares to homemade strawberry jam, and we finished the last jar this past week.
If I could go back to that moment, I'd move some things and rearrange some things and I'd make room for another batch or two of jam.
Then I wouldn't be in this jam-less position. Okay, it's not jam-less, and before I discovered how much I love to make strawberry jam with my Mom, I had loved Smuckers. I still have Smuckers. It's just not the same.
The jam I made with my mom evoked memories of summer, of standing in her hot kitchen, mashing berries and laughing together, of being an adult but still being her child, so when it came to taking hot jars out of hot water, she did it so I wouldn't burn my fingers, of that magic moment when you hear the lid ping....
The last of the strawberry jam is a very sad thing!
You are making my mouth water! I love strawberry jam. And, I love anything that reminds me of my mother!
ReplyDeleteOh, that is sad! How many jars did you make? We are still eating our jam, but that is because I ration it. I am really not a fun mom! :)
ReplyDeleteI used to make jam with my grandmother--strawberry, raspberry, blackberry,elderberry. She made her last batches the year my oldest son was born. I've never tried it on my own, but this post kind of makes me want to give it shot next summer.
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