Summer Regrets

My son finished off Grandma Jo's
jam in less than two days!

A few weeks ago, my step-mom gave me the loveliest jar of homemade golden plum jam. The jam had a wonderful tart-sweet flavor; tart from the amber skins of the plums and sweet from the flesh. I had barely made it in the door with my prize when my 14-year-old son’s food radar instantly activated and he wanted to know what was in the jar. After one taste, he immediately got out the bread. He spread a slice generously with the jam, folded it in half, and began stuffing it in his mouth.

“Mmmmmm, this stuff is amazing,” he purred.

Then he took out the peanut butter and made sandwiches with the jam. After a sandwich or two, he toasted some bread and slathered the jam on top of melted butter. He said the flavor reminded him a little of apricot preserves only sweeter and smoother. I had never realized my son was such a jelly connoisseur. My step-mom would have thoroughly enjoyed watching him devour her yummy gift. Then came the inevitable question:

“How did Grandma Jo make this?”

I chuckled as I retold the story of how a few days ago, Grandma and Grandpa had gone to Erie Orchards and Grandpa made Grandma Jo climb up a ladder to pick the best plums. 

 "Can you believe he made her climb up a ladder, for Pete's sake?"

“Yeah, but how did she actually make it?”

Although I wasn’t exactly sure how she had made it, I could pretty much guess. I had watched both my mom and step-mom can hundreds of jars of tomatoes, pickles, and jelly. As a kid, it was a familiar part of my summer. I told my son about sterilizing the jars and the lids and the big pot and the rack for the jars. I told him about preparing the fruit and adding sugar and Sure-Jell.  I talked about how sometimes the lids popped as they sealed. My son was genuinely fascinated with the process.

“How come you don’t make jam and pickles and stuff?”

I didn’t answer him right away. I just looked at him and said that canning takes a lot of time and I didn't have all the canning equipment. As I explained this to him I began to feel guilty. Knowing my son, he would have enjoyed the process of making jam as much as he loved eating it. Maybe next summer.