It’s been 2 weeks since my last batch of jam.
Contrary to what you might be thinking after Memorial Day week’s onslaught, this wasn’t for lack of desire. We went on vacation. All the way from Memphis to Orange Beach, we saw farmer’s stands loaded with fresh, locally grown produce. Blueberry and Blackberry signs flashed by me like little teasers of what would be happening in other peoples’ kitchens while we were piling into a condo with beach gear, more food than 7 people could eat in a week, and gallons of sun block. The potential we passed by on the way down sucked at me the whole week. I could picture those green and gray mesh treys packed with fruit morphing into the pretty little jars of jam and jelly that I love so much. I could smell the warm, vege-fruit fresh smell as it was cleaned, prepped, mascerated, then cooked into delights that would last into the Fall and Winter.
Instead of preserving the fruits of a rich Southern Summer, I spent time with family, knitted, read, ate. We went to Lulu’s. and had caricatures drawn of the kids. We built sandcastles with Polly Pocket, we explored the tacky souvenir shop across the way and admired the retro-cut-up-boyfriend-sweatshirt-meets-air-brush styles offered. We watched the wildlife during our visit to Dauphin Island and its Estuarium (yes, this is a word, too, Spellcheck!). We dug our toes in the sand.
And we left too late in the day on Friday to stop at any of the previously mentioned road side stands. That’s alright. This weekend, Jason and I have a blackberry pickin’ date. I’ll let you know how it goes.
P.S. – I ran on National Running Day – just barely. RW Summer Running Streak Broken!! It’s hard to run when you’ve turned into beach mush. That’s my story.