June 3, 2011
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Savor ye strawberries while ye may
I made strawberry jam yesterday, one of my favorite late spring rituals. It gives me such a feeling of inner satisfaction to spend a couple of hours with boxes of luscious, juicy fruit, a little (well, really a lot) of sugar, some pectin and to finish with sparkling jars of red sweetness, lined up in rows on the countertop, lids all perfectly “pinged’ and sealed. Come next January, a spoonful of the results of this morning’s labors spread on a hot, buttered biscuit will taste like the essence of summer.
Strawberries are such a treat! I’m talking about REAL strawberries. I don’t mean the huge, hollow, dry white ones that are picked green, genetically altered to grow too large, too fast, and to hold their shape without spoiling for weeks, while being shipped across a continent. No, I mean the smaller, truly sweet berries, red on the inside AND out, and juicy enough to be messy. These berries are hard to find, and we’re lucky that a few Ozarkers still grow them and sell them. And I love to pick them with my own hands.
Today as I stemmed and cut berries into chunks and then mashed them with a potato masher, I thought about another strawberry patch and another jam-making session. We lived in another place, and my children were still youngsters. My mother had come to visit, bringing along my grandmother and my great-grandmother, and I was so excited to plan what I thought would be the perfect multi-generational outing for all of us–a visit to a local strawberry patch.
Only it wasn’t really perfect. Mom didn’t like it at all–she dislikes the heat and hates flying insects, and that world we lived in had lots of both. And Grandmother thought my great-grandmother, her mother, was not up to picking berries. But still I persisted. Those who didn’t wish to pick could sit in the shade.
When we got to the Millers’ strawberry patch, it turned out that nothing would deter Great-Grandma from doing her part. She was small and lithe and could still stoop over, and she smiled through it all, reminiscing about strawberry episodes from her childhood. My girls ran up and down the rows, eating more than they picked and having a wonderful time. Mom was tolerant if not happy, and we came home with an abundance of sweet berries.
Then Grandmother came into her element, giving me my first jam-making lesson. A quick trip to town resulted in pectin, extra sugar and new jar lids. Mom and Grandma had the berries stemmed and ready for us, and we went to work. She taught me to be precise in measuring, what a rolling boil is, how to time a minute just right (“Thousand-one, thousand-two, thousand-three…), and to skim off the foam.
Grandmother said, “There’s nothing wrong with the foamy part–the jam just isn’t as pretty with it on top. Put it in a saucer and eat it tonight!”
She taught me to quickly seal the hot jars tightly and to turn them upside down on a dish towel on the counter for about 10 minutes. Then when the jars are turned right side up, they ping quickly, letting you know they are sealed.
[Although proper directions instruct one to process the jars in a water bath, I've never done that, and I've never lost a jar of jam, in all these years.]
Grandmother and I didn’t turn all those strawberries into jam. That night for supper we had strawberry shortcake, and this was where Mom came into her element. First, she sliced and sweetened a big bowl of berries and let them get juicy. Then she made pie crust. This was Dad’s favorite way to enjoy strawberry shortcake, and Mom always made things the way Dad liked them. Mom rolled out sheets of pie crust, pricked it and then baked it on a cookie sheet till nicely browned. After supper, Mom layered berries and crust in a big bowl, allowing the crust to soak up the juice for a few minutes, while she whipped cream–no substitute for the real thing.
Can I even begin to tell you how good Mom’s strawberry shortcake was? No, words won’t do it justice. I hope you get the chance to try it for yourself.
How I wish for pictures from that day, with five generations of women in our family picking, working up, and eating strawberries together. I do have the images sealed in my mind, to be brought out and remembered again, as I go through the same process these many years later.
Now, can you guess what my farmboy and I had for dessert last night?
Comments (9)
You have such wonderful memories. Thanks for sharing them with us.
You may not have PICTURES of the five generations, but you write with such a perfect description, one can almost see it anyway. I hope you’re recording these blogs for your children and grandchildren.
Sounds like another productive day in you kitchen Janet. Love the pictures…and know you will be enjoying the fruits of your labors when the snow flies.
I like to make strawberry jam, too. I’m determined to make several batches this spring when the berries are ready here in CT. We love to eat the warm foamy part on bread after I skim it off the top.
By the way, Rich is picking me up my favorite sundae tonight when he’s on his way home from the boy’s baseball practice. STRAWBERRY.
Great post full of family and sweetness! ((hugs))
I like the kind of strawberries you described–not the big, tasteless ones you see so many times at the grocery store or eat in restaurants. Strawberry shortcake made the way you described is also my favorite way to enjoy strawberries. Your pictures of the strawberry and the jam you made is beautiful–as is the story of your strawberry picking and jam making with you mother, grandmother and great grandmother.
oh how delicious you make that sound! My sister in law has strawberries in her front yard, right up by the front door. They are really a pretty ground cover, and it’s wonderful to reach down and grab a few whenever you pass through that way! i was there thursday, and had some going in and coming out. you’re right, nothing like the ones at the grocery store!
Oh yum, what a wonderful memory! Now I’m going to have to make strawberry shortcake with pie crust. I’d forgotten about that.
Janet, I loved reading your post! Now, of course, I’m craving strawberry jam and I only have one jar left that I canned last year! I’m like you; I’m not into those “fake” strawberries–give me real berries please!
That is a beautiful jar of jam. I stopped making jam myself a few years ago. It seemed like no one was eating many sweets anymore and that was the first to go. Such a waste to make it and then no one eat it…so I didn’t. But I always loved the process. There’s something very comforting in it.