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Blackberry Jam

My uncle has grown blackberries for 20 years. Since 2002, he has made and sold blackberry jam. I’ve always wanted to know how to make jam, so this year I helped. Here’s a photo essay:

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We took a break and, while listening to the ping of the jam jars setting, we enjoyed my grandma’s delicious blackberry cobbler. They still had more jam to make. I had to head to my parents’ house to pick up Sophie, where she had fun day with Nini.

“It is as healthy to enjoy sentiment as to enjoy jam.” —Gilbert K. Chesterton

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This entry was written by kara, posted on August 22, 2008 at 8:52 am, filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.
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    Relationship tip: Don’t tell your partner that “this is your favorite part of Christmas” and immediately follow it with “I want to do this with you every year until we die” while he’s experiencing a thousand needle pricks due to being over-meticulous about the lights while you’re sitting on the steps drinking Chardonnay (with a couple ice cubes) out of a Christmas mug with a sexy reindeer on it (Vixen, of course). Picked the kids up from school and took a beautiful drive to a 100-acre tree farm in Ohio (thank you, friends, for the recommendation!). Way better than last year’s last-minute Kroger lot tree. Andy may grumble about my refusal to get an artificial tree every year but he said he had fun today. He secretly loves the long drive and the sawing and the cost and the prickles and the tying it to the van and the falling needles due to our neglectful watering all December long .... Our antenna is broken so instead of listening to Christmas songs on the radio I serenaded the family the whole way home. And yelled LOOK! CHRISTMAS LIGHTS!! every time we passed a festive house. I don’t know about everyone else but I loved today. My mom has made many Christmas bags over the years — she and my dad wrap all their presents in them to reduce waste. Some of her bags feature little surprises like this — that’s me, Katy and Kyle, 1980-something. My sister and Tom hosted a beautiful and delicious Thanksgiving. I’m sad to leave! Thankful for family, sweet sweet potatoes, hikes, wine, warm fires, early birthday celebrations, plays, and new and old faces willing to seek seashells hidden around the house with the kids. This world can be so cruel. And our actions ... my worry lines deepen daily. A trick I use to keep myself from crawling into bed and refusing to come out (which I’ve tried, with little success) is to remind myself of something my mom once told me: Soldiers, she once read, were sent a recording of children laughing — nothing more, just happy squeals. And it helped them all. It’s genius, really. Who doesn’t like the sound of children laughing? I like to think about all the little things we humans share in common. Take fire, for example. It draws people in, for survival in the early days, yes, but still, the next time you’re close to (purposeful) fire, watch how people are attracted to it, as if we are nothing more than moths drunk on the flames. And although many may ignore it, no one curses a beautiful sunset. Each of us has a least one smell that brings on a good memory. Everyone loves zoo babies. And finally reaching that itch that needs scratching. And the joy of embracing someone they love. We all have a song that gives us goosebumps. And a cat video that makes us laugh. And something that makes us cry, privately. We all share in the goodness of drinking something cold when parched, taking our shoes off after a long day and wrapping ourselves in a blanket when cold. Each of us finds connection in eye contact resulting in unspoken conversation, witnessing a sweet reunion at the train station or airport, and in niceties — waving someone on, a sincere apology, holding open a door. There is privilege in my words, yes, and I know I experience the world quite differently from someone who is, for example, autistic (but I know there are shared experiences there as well). And please don’t mistake this for a “we should all just get along” post. Because some of y’all have beliefs I will fight until the day I die. But this Thanksgiving, especially this Thanksgiving, I’m grateful that we as humans have some things that bind us. For it is there I find hope that we may one day find ourselves on a better path for all humanity. Think this is a stretch? Ask yourself this: Have you ever met anyone who doesn’t like having a back scratcher when they have a hard-to-reach itch? No. Io was home alone a long time today. He found toilet paper rolls (and a shoe, a watch, a package, two books, a large ice scraper, socks ...). And copious amounts of glitter. If you use your imagination really hard, it’s like glittery snow, all over the first floor of our house. But it’s not glittery snow. It’s all the toilet paper rolls from both baths torn into tiny bits and ACTUAL GLITTER all over the rugs and hardwood and furniture and given that the candle sticks are askew and glittery at one point he must have been ON THE DINING ROOM TABLE in a self-induced frenzied dance of glitter spreading in every creak and crevice of our house. Me, two weeks ago: “He’s such a good puppy! He’s hardly chewed anything!” 🧻✨ Lost electronics for the night, spelling lists with all those tricky silent k’s and b’s, a patchwork dinner of stir-fried rice and veggies and odd chicken and naan (all lazily pulled from the freezer), angry yelling (regretful), a clogged drain, a curse word and then another, a tiny, soft splinter, a (sad) no, a sierra of laundry, and this guy, who stinks. Hoping tonight’s winds blow all these bad vibes away along with the leaves. Grateful to have tomorrow. Snow meant three separate requests for hot chocolate today, requests I was already on top of thanks to my mama intuition and a grocery run the night before. Most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing during these intense mothering years, especially with the big things, but 11 years in I can finally say I’ve mastered (a few) little things. I’m counting on those adding up in my favor in the long run. ❄️ Snowy Night, by Mary Oliver “Last night, an owl in the blue dark tossed an indeterminate number of carefully shaped sounds into the world, in which, a quarter of a mile away, I happened to be standing. I couldn’t tell which one it was – the barred or the great-horned ship of the air – it was that distant. But, anyway, aren’t there moments that are better than knowing something, and sweeter? Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness. I suppose if this were someone else’s story they would have insisted on knowing whatever is knowable – would have hurried over the fields to name it – the owl, I mean. But it’s mine, this poem of the night, and I just stood there, listening and holding out my hands to the soft glitter falling through the air. I love this world, but not for its answers. And I wish good luck to the owl, whatever its name – and I wish great welcome to the snow, whatever its severe and comfortless and beautiful meaning.” It’s hard work waiting for the kids to come home from school and play. Today is my dad’s 65th birthday. All summer long he fills our kitchen (and others’ and the food bank’s) with his garden bounty. Almost every time the boys ask him to play baseball (even if it’s the third time of the day) he says yes. I can’t count the times he’s lent me his truck (and time and hands) to help me move things or pick up my crazy Craigslist finds. He dedicates a ton of time to our Unitarian church (just last week he spent the night there while the church offered shelter from the cold). “No problem” is his response to everything (even if he’s silently rescheduling things to make it work). All summer long he plays baseball with the Cincinnati Dragons and listens/watches the Reds play (and still finds time to watch our kids play). I’m so grateful to have him in my life and today was such a good day. Happy birthday, Dad. ⚾️ Friday night II ❤️ Friday night ❤️ I got a new phone (and I adore the camera, thanks again for your help, @jjmenk !) but I’m changing carriers (to Tello, it’s so inexpensive, check them out!) and apparently my phone number is “porting in” which “can take up to 5 business days” (maybe this is why it’s so cheap) so email me if you need me. Also, Sophie looks way too old in this picture! Today was a good day. Every great once in awhile it’s good to test the solidity of your marriage by moving a large piece of furniture, such as a couch with a bed tucked away inside of it and a chaise lounge attached to it. #WeAreStillSpeaking #INeedToUpMyWeightsAtBarre Happy Halloween! We had two Reds players, a zombie and a black cat this year. Io (you can see him in our front door in one pic) ran away from the door anytime someone knocked wearing a mask. Sophie went to the other side of town with friends, and the boys wanted to go all on their own, wearing a batting glove on one hand and a baseball glove on the other to keep warm. Everyone refused their winter coats bc they’re ridiculous. And I’m over that argument. So I let them be. The boys collected their candy in their baseball bags. It was windy and cold but no rain! Last-minute trip to Neltner’s last week on a gorgeous weekday after school. Skateboard: 1, Sophie: 0. Thankfully it’s just a buckle fracture so no cast! Ignore the messy house. I have another kid with a fever and another one who had to write an apology letter to our neighbor re his baseball and their car (hopefully there’s no damage). It’s been a (Mon)day! My grandma’s backyard, fall. We purposefully came after lunch so she wouldn’t feel obliged to cook. So she had dinner ready. Days like today will always be some of my favorites.
    TAP

  • Favorite Essays

    Choosing Compassion in a Culture of Fear

    Seeking the Bigness in the Everyday

    The Love in Trying

    The View from Up High

    Season of Innocence

    The Huffington Post guest post: Apologies to the Parents I Judged Four Years Ago, a TIME's top 10 opinion piece in 2012

    Simple

    Changing Love

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