Ah, yesterday. Yesterday apologized for a rainy, soggy Monday with bright sunshine and warm breezes. As soon as we saw the skies, we loaded up our baskets and headed northeast to our local u-pick strawberry farm. The same accomplices joined us last year, and I sense this becoming a tradition my boys will remember for years to come. This time, little b was old enough to carry his own basket, into which he pilfered many of his older brothers red, shiny jewels.
Pick a few......eat a few.Our bounty was a plentiful repeat of last year's: thirteen pounds of plump, ripe strawberries. This year, we picked later in the season, just two days before our annual departure to Georgia for Easter. To preserve our treasures and make gifts for our family, we decided to embark on our first jam session.I had been warned by several about the precise timing of making jam. Those words of caution also came with the suggestion to wait until little b retired for the evening to begin. This turned out to be critically necessary advice. Even with my full attention on the process, there are no photographs of the stirring and pouring, because it took all three of us (Papa, Mama and Big B) in a harried and hot assembly line to finish the job. But when we did finish, our hard work was rewarded within minutes by the pop-pop-pop of the jars sealing. What a gratifying sound!Now we have a dozen beauties in their basket, ready to travel north and brighten the bread of our family. The ability to pick strawberries in the morning and can them the same night infused instant gratitude through my hands and into my heart.