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| Michelle's pear tree |
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Michelle's pear jelly
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It was October when I first moved to Oregon. I walked down rural roads crowded in on either side by vines heavy with ripe wild blackberries. "
Why doesn't somebody pick them?" I asked my landlady.
"Make pies out of them and market them back in DC as Marion Barry pies--that would be a clever joke.
" She didn't even try to stop herself from laughing.
I learned early on to check my gee- whiz wonder at trees laden with apple or pears, not even in orchards but in somebody's yard or leaning out over country lanes. It took me years, though, to quell the urge that arises every year at this time. I think that I should Do Something with all that delicious fruit. My inner farm wife threatens to put on her apron.
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| Michelle and Eeyore |
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| Even her driveway overflows |
I have a good model in my neighbor Michelle, who raises the chickens that provide us with eggs. Michelle named all her girls, long before
Portlandia made jokes about the provenance of chickens. When Eeyore broke her leg, she sported a cast until it healed. Michelle's hens have won blue ribbons at the Clackamas County fair. So have her jams and jellies and quilts and pumpkins. Every week when I pick up eggs I see Michelle's solid and confident happiness with the steady, demanding art of producing food and useful household goods.
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| Berries have soaked for 6 days |
But can I really do much of that? Are you kidding? I learned to can under the tutelage of my friend Karen, whose high school Home Ec teacher recognized her as a great domestic talent. After that summer weekend of canning with Karen, I tried it on my own. The blackberry jam didn't jell and the peaches were much too sweet.
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| Boiling with sugar |
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| Raspberry vinegar |
These days I limit my ambitions. I make applesauce in half-pint Mason jars, because it's difficult to find organic applesauce for sale in anything but huge glass containers. I bottle a batch of raspberry vinegar every five years or so. Everything else I buy from Michelle.
Ah, that farm-wife apron. It lures even the uncanniest of us.
ReplyDeleteIt's a shame that people don't grow fruit trees in Suburban DC. There's nothing sweeter than stolen fruit.
Your raspberry vinegar is wonderful! Thank you for sharing. :-)
ReplyDeleteI had a good laugh at your piece. My own attempts at home canning remain unearthed too.
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