Four summers ago, my dear friend Cathy and I were in her neighbor’s crabapple tree throwing fruit to her daughter below.  Greta was running from one ground-level spot to another, doing her best to keep up with the showering fruit.  “Look out beloooooow! Hey, Greta – come over here!” Cathy and I yelled quadrant commands for about 45 minutes until Greta had had enough.

“Hey, when do I get to climb UP THERE and YOU catch the fruit down HERE??”

Okay, that was fair.  We switched places.  Cathy and Greta were now pummeling fruit and I was the fetcher.  In an hour, we had filled a 5-gallon bucket about 80% full of sweet smelling, warm and perfectly ripe crabapples.  We were going to make jam.  We loaded up our accoutrements (ladder, rake, other buckets, hats, gloves) and headed to her home.

I had not canned since living at home as a little girl. That was back in the day of pressure cookers and freaky stories about jars exploding. I was feeling pretty insecure and was scared I would do something wrong.  I didn’t know how to prep the jars. I didn’t have a sense of what a rolling boil was or how to skim the foam from jam.  I certainly didn’t know how to hold the jars or fill them correctly, how tightly to screw on the rings, or what the sealing process was all about.  I needed my security blanket and teacher – hence, I was hanging out with Cathy and learning. A whole bunch.

Crabapple jam is a rosy, golden-pink hue and the taste is like the best sweetness summer has to offer.  Continue reading My Little Victory Garden: Canning With Fear, Friends, Fire and Frequency →