Jammin' Sisters

My big sister can do anything.  She has always been very accomplished: great student, musician, linguist.  Yesterday we made jam together and as we cooked and chatted, I saw her in a whole new light.

We made four batches of jam: two blueberry and two strawberry for a total of 34 jars.  Debbie and my brother-in-law, Bill, grew the berries on their farm.  They harvested them, cleaned them, and froze them.

I’ve made jam before, but mine boiled over and never jelled.  Debbie is very precise in her jam making, something that makes me smirk because when we were growing up she would often announce, “A good cook never measures!” in a falsetto voice imitating her idol, Julia Child.  At that time, she was no Julia Child, let me tell you.

 Anyway, the berries were measured and she let me mush them (a perfect job for the “little sister.” We revert right back to our familial roles.)  Into the pot the fragrant berries went, followed by a pack of pectin.  I didn’t use pectin when I made my jam.  Deb said that’s why it turned out like syrup.  We brought the berries/pectin to a boil, then added gobs of sugar.  Stirring constantly, we brought it to a boil and set a timer to let the sweet berries boil for exactly one minute, carefully monitoring so it didn’t boil over (another step I previously neglected).

At that point, we loaded the concoction into 1/2 pint jars, screwed on seal tops, and immersed them in a boiling bath for 10 minutes to ensure all monkey pox present was killed.

While the jam cooled I used my rotary cutter to fashion fabric covers for the jam.  This summer, Debbie plans to sell it for $4 a jar at the farmer’s market.  She will also sell vegetables and berries from the farm once it starts producing.

Jam is pretty easy to make if you have a guide.  Debbie also makes her own syrup (she taps the Sugar Maples in her backyard), her own yogurt, roasts coffee beans, grows and pickles cucumbers and okra, cans tomatoes, and with her husband, makes amazing beer.

She is a veritable renaissance woman compared to the person who used to play our high school fight song on her piccolo at 6 a.m. or hold my legs over my head until I said the magic word...But I must say, she was a good guide at other things, too.  As big sisters go, she’s one in a million.