Blueberries and the fashion police
It's blueberry season here in the midwest, and I've spent the morning in some seriously old-fashioned domesticity. We haven't had time to go berry picking, as we've done in previous years; so last week I stopped at one of the myriad stands along the highway and bought a whole mess of blueberries (15 pounds, as I recall).
Some of those berries we've been eating fresh, of course-- on cereal, or in pancakes, or as part of a blueberry cobbler, buckle, crisp or pie. The rest I preserve: they are either frozen for later use, or turned into jam and canned.
Yes, I'm a throwback; I really enjoy doing that sort of thing.
So today has been canning day, and I'm tickled to look over at the row of little jam jars cooling on the counter. But I laughed out loud when I realized, as I walked down the hallway, that the image in the mirror there was rather less inspiring.
It's hot here today-- sweltering in the steam of the kitchen, even with the air conditioning on; so I'm dressed in cutoffs and a t-shirt ("Goat Roast 2003"), barefoot, with my hair tucked up under an old ball cap because it's not long enough to pull back in a ponytail. I'm a sloppy cook, so this vision is overlaid by an ancient, faded red checked apron, asking the vital question: "For this I spent four years in college??"
No makeup, but I did spot a dab of jam on my cheek.
Just as well no one is home today; I'd probably scare them away.
But hey-- the jam looks good!
Some of those berries we've been eating fresh, of course-- on cereal, or in pancakes, or as part of a blueberry cobbler, buckle, crisp or pie. The rest I preserve: they are either frozen for later use, or turned into jam and canned.
Yes, I'm a throwback; I really enjoy doing that sort of thing.
So today has been canning day, and I'm tickled to look over at the row of little jam jars cooling on the counter. But I laughed out loud when I realized, as I walked down the hallway, that the image in the mirror there was rather less inspiring.
It's hot here today-- sweltering in the steam of the kitchen, even with the air conditioning on; so I'm dressed in cutoffs and a t-shirt ("Goat Roast 2003"), barefoot, with my hair tucked up under an old ball cap because it's not long enough to pull back in a ponytail. I'm a sloppy cook, so this vision is overlaid by an ancient, faded red checked apron, asking the vital question: "For this I spent four years in college??"
No makeup, but I did spot a dab of jam on my cheek.
Just as well no one is home today; I'd probably scare them away.
But hey-- the jam looks good!
posted by Jane Ellen+ at
10:27 AM
1 Comments:
This brings back memories of slaving away, er...I mean helping my Mom can bazillions of quarts of various stuff back in Sounthern IN. We had a 'canning kitchen' in the basement then. Such a cool thing!
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