APRICOT JAM – 2023
That magical summer was stored on a shelf. Spring rains, zephyr winds, and the clickety-clack of random mustangs passing by. Back porch evenings enjoying the quiet. The soft touch of a shoulder’s brushing while watching TV. A frosty bowl of Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. A sweet goodnight kiss.
Richness beyond five pounds of sugar are preserved in those jars. Happy summer molecules hold memories of new roses and strolls through gardens. Their time is marked forever. The date memorialized in Sharpie on “BALL” gold. A luxury that can’t be bought.
Winter dinner guests will note the rich hue, similar to the orangish red of July’s dusky sunset sky. Resembling the intensity of a summer’s child resisting sleep.
The tongues of that December’s dinner-party will be enlivened by summer’s harvest, glowing like fireflies in a jar. The hues of that lovely summer are now saved for winter’s cold, by an old lady, canning in the kitchen. Summer’s magic, settled on a shelf. Joy’s Apricot Jam 2023.
jhurt2023
Now, let’s get down to the truth about canning. It isn’t fun. It isn’t romantic. It’s hot, sticky, and a total mess. There you have it. My real feelings on canning.
Yesterday was a busy day. Before the sun was up, it was time to pick two buckets of apricots. Now, that doesn’t seem like a lot. In reality, these weren’t five-gallon buckets. Just buckets my Grandmother would have loved. She was always looking for a new bucket because my Grandfather would swipe the one she’d just bought. During the Mid Century 1900’s, buying a bucket was a big thing. Not a bucket from Japan, either. Made in America. And make it a nice. Grammie always had to have a NICE bucket.
Well, Grammie, I get that now. I have my favorites. These were now full of apricots and old instincts kicked in. Pit and cut the fruit. Boil the jars, lids, and rings. Measure the sugar and lemon juice. For six, tiny jars of jam. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat……………
Yesterday, I canned 28 jars of jam. The day before, 11.
Fruit left on the tree?
That’s only one spot in a huge limb.
My tree a mature, 20 year old apricot tree. It’s as loaded as I’ve ever seen. Rich, beautiful fruit that hasn’t been sprayed or touched in any way, except by the hand of God. A bountiful crop.
Now, what to do with this glorious fruit.
I’ve asked at church for takers. Crickets.
I’ve made one pie. 1/2 is still on the counter.
I’ve run out of jars and plan to buy more today to can halved-apricots for winter.
I’ll try my hand at drying some. Perhaps some Fruit leather?
If we enter another depression, I’m sure the products can be used for bartering.
One thing is for certain, by Sunday the apricot harvest will be over.
Make hay while the sun shines. Keep Calm and Can On.
Today, The Angle of the Aluminum Cloud and I are going West to enjoy some time together in the biggest little city we know. She’s the only REAL, TRUE, and HONEST fighter jet mechanic I know (Aluminum Cloud — fighter jet). A girl’s day to get caught up and compare notes on our apricot harvests.
Whatever you do, if asked if you need some fruits or vegetables, be kind and say, “YES!” with gusto. Take a few minutes and listen to my favorite story about excess produce. The end is priceless.