I can remember the first summer I made jam. I was rolling on the high of realizing I liked berries, and was living in Portland with my boyfriend, my best friend and her boyfriend. My relationship was on it’s way down but I was clueless. (Spoiler: They’re married now and populating.)
Anyways. Hot sugary jam everywhere, burnt fingers, totally exasperated. That was my first time. It felt like a little too much to take on.
But for some reason, I just kept doing it. A little here, a little there. A recipe I wanted to try, a bumper crop of tomatoes that needed to be dealt with.
Suddenly canning is an extension of me, just like gardening is. Maybe more so. I pick up little tricks along the way but I’ve settled down into my comfort zone. Canning is often a meditation for me. Moving through each step, maintaining the simple uniformity of fruit and headspace. I invite people into my little routines, sitting in the kitchen talking to me while I peel chop tomatoes or peel rhubarb.
The very act of making jam brings me such joy, that the joy of sharing of it with my friends and family is simply a nice coincidence.
I am embracing more opportunities to share my little jars of joy. You can find those endeavors here on Facebook.
Fun fact: Canning-goddess does not necessarily mean all-around-homesteading goddess, yet. Every winter as canning finally slows down I always turn to infusing liquors, or fermenting my own krauts. Every time, pffft. I am just not there yet. Someday.
barn | lust 