Self-portrait Tuesday: Canning

Today I made six pints of strawberry/blueberry freezer jam. It is such a good flavor combo; I like it even better than just blueberry, in case you're wondering. And I'm sure you are. It even set properly, so that made me very happy!

(So happy that I hid behind some of it and took a picture! Okay, not really. I've been trying to take a few quick self-portraits, but this is the only one that turned out half-decent. Oy.)

Feeling rather confident in the jam arena, I decided to try my luck at cooked jam.

I have no idea why.

No, not because I don't know how to do it or because I botched it up. It's because when I was growing up I had to help my mom can stuff every summer and fall, and I always swore I would never do it on my own once I was an adult. I was soooo picked on; my mom was totally the president of the mean mom's club. Totally.

(Okay, I also thought I'd never yell at my kids, force my family to eat Cream of Wheat, or get excited when buying a new appliance. Hey, what did I know? I was just a kid.)

Honestly? I didn't really mind canning all that much. (Something I would never have admitted at the time!)

Oh, scalding my fingers while peeling tomatoes and sweating buckets because of all the boiling water wasn't exactly pleasant. And I hated pitting peaches and plums and trying to strain the seeds out of raspberry pulp. (Oh, how I hated those raspberries!)

But I liked the conversations I was able to have with my mom, the things I learned from her, the work itself. I liked learning the things her mother taught her, and her mother before her. I realized that a freshly preserved bottle of peaches or tomatoes can be beautiful. I learned to love the *pop* sound of the lids sealing into place after coming out of the water bath. (There are few sounds on this earth more satisfying than that.) But most of all, I liked the time I had with her, one on one.

So maybe it was a bit of nostalgia that drove me to make the cooked jam this afternoon. I wanted to experience some of those feelings again; to feel closer to my mom. Don't get me wrong - it was messy, hot, and frustrating. But also pleasantly familiar.

And maybe it sounds silly, but I did feel closer to her; almost as if she were there.

Especially when I realized I forgot to put the pectin in the first batch, and then fighting to not @#$%!!! in front of Spencer. I swear I could hear her laughing along with me.

Thanks for being such a 'mean' mom. I miss you all the more for it.