I love embracing the seasonal! This year is our fourth year making strawberry jam, and the boys were anxiously awaiting for the day our local farmers would announce that the fields were ready. I think I heard "Is it today, Mama?" a dozen times.
But the day finally came! The kids piled in the van, and after a long ride we reached our favorite pick-your-own farm. Plastic-lined baskets clutched in their hands they jumped from the van and darted down the strawberry rows towards the man with the flag who would give us a row to work in. Eve clutched a little bucket of her own, unsure of what all the fuss was about.
And then she saw her brothers reaching into the greenery and pulling out the brightest, ruby-red-ist treasures and putting them in their baskets. Treasure! She picked and picked, paused to watch the families in the field, clung close to Mama when they came too near, and picked some more.
The boys worked for about an hour and then finally gave out. They sat on an irrigation pipeline and watched the people and their sister, and chatted with their Mama as I tried to buy myself just a bit more picking time. (This limited, give-it-your-all, focused time is the reason I just can't stop and take pictures when we're picking.)
We spent the rest of the day with friends that live near the farm, and then I put my exhausted children in the van to head home. I hadn't gotten my seatbelt on when Micah wanted to know, "We're going to make the jam as soon as we get home, right?"
Ha. Ha. No, baby. We are going to chill.
So we chilled. And the next morning we made half of the jam. We wash the berries and then the boys entertain Eve while I hull them. And then the smashing! I used to have to explain and monitor carefully. Last year I had to supervise. This year I handed the boys a timer, a bowl of berries, and our pastry cutter (we use it for mashing and it works great).
That's it. They took turns, smashed berries to ruby liquid, and occassionally called for me to bring more berries. And then I did the boiling parts. Levi sighs happily and annouces that he feels "just like a farmer."
The work is good. It is simple. It is together. We enjoy the fruit of it all year. The next morning the boys go out with their Papa, and I have friends come over, eager to learn about this canning stuff that our family gets so much joy from. Babies around our ankles, pulling on my apron strings, laughter and sugar everywhere, Eve and I pass on a tradition that is worth preserving.
Thanks Gramma for showing me how!
And thanks Nanny. I remember those wild grape vines, the boiling, boiling, boiling, and your old-fashioned sheets of parafin - I still miss you and Henry.
We even have a little extra to sell to friends ($4 a half-pint anyone?).

