Jelly

Today I finished making the last of just about 5 gallons of homemade wild dewberry jelly. I didn't make a 5 gallon container, but lots and lots of jelly jars. This means so much to me because, I have been making jelly for a long time, and it brings back so many wonderful memories.
I first started making jelly just to learn how. It is not hard, and in my youth, (20's) I was in an "Earth Mother" mentality. This means that I learned lots of homemaking skills such as canning, soap making, candle making, and all sorts of other stuff. We lived near the farmer's market in Houston, and every day the vendors would throw out entire bushel of produce if only a few items had blemishes. I was not too proud to go and sort through the boxes and usually came home with several bags or boxes of fresh fruits and vegetables. I would hurry and cook and can the produce for my family, or freeze it or can it. It was almost free, and I loved doing it. Martin would also go by the market and bring stuff home for me. I had Sissy and Bobbie Jo then, (they were very small) and they would sit on the porch with me while I peeled carrots, shucked corn, shelled peas and other stuff. I would prepare strawberries, apples, grapes, peaches and cherries to make jellies and preserves. I even learned to can meat, and when chicken or other meat would go on sale, I would spend hours in the kitchen cooking and packing meat in bottles to go into the pressure canner. I don't know where I got the energy, but I did it and loved it the whole time.
In July, 1977 Martin and I had an appointment to go to Salt Lake City Utah to be sealed in the temple there. We had no money, but had been planning the trip for about 6 months and that gave me time to think of ways to help pay for the trip. I had learned that Aaron was on the way, but in my "Earth Mother" mentality, I felt I could do anything- and was determined to earn some money. I planted a garden. In the spring of that year, I worked the little garden, mentally congratulating myself on my efforts. I thought that maybe I could bottle some tomatoes, and sell some of the tomatoes and some fresh squash. Then, it rained and flooded everything and my garden died. By then, it was the month of May, and the time was getting short. One day, I noticed some wild berries in the park. I got a brainstorm. I would pick berries and make jelly to sell! Martin thought that was a good idea and so together with the little girls, we would pick any berries we could find and put them in the freezer. It was hot, and I was pregnant, but all I could think of was the money for the trip. In the heat of the day, I would walk through brambles and stickers to pick berries, and sometimes I would have to bend over to get them. I didn't care. Somehow, I was able to get mason jars, mayonaise jars, baby food jars and any other kind of jar to hold jelly. My only real expense was sugar, so we were able to cover that. The fruit was free, and so, my vacation jelly took off. Then, my neighbor told me that her grandmother used to make jelly from mulberries. She said it was very good- but I didn't hear that because my mind was rushing ahead to the locations of several mulberry trees and their bounteous produce. I ran home and told Martin, and he went right out and started picking mulberries. Once again, we had plenty and they joined the jelly making. I went to the market and got strawberries that had been culled, and they were wonderful and made the best jam. Soon, my whole kitchen, dining room and living room were full of lovely jars of jams and jellies. The rainbow of colors greeted me each morning like the jewels in the crown of a queen. I told my friends in the neighborhood and at church why I was selling my jelly. Everyone was so supportive and soon, I had earned over 150.00 for the trip. That was a lot of money in those days, and it really helped us.
After we moved to the country, there were hundreds of berry bushes in the field behind the house. Each spring, I would wait for the berries to ripen, and get my bucket ready to go. I would take the children, but they griped that they didn't want to pick berries. They would try to wander off, but I told them to stay close by or the bears would get them. "Aw Mama, there ain't no bears around here!" declared Sissy. The other little ones agreed with her, but then I said, "what makes you think there are no bears around here? Bears love berries, why, I guess that's why they call them, bear-ries!" This made perfect sense to the little ones, and they stayed right next to me after that!
I also made wild fig preserves. Texas grows figs everywhere, and no one knows what to do with them, (unless you have been raised eating figs, and then you really know how wonderful they are). If you can find someone with a fig tree, chances are they will be glad to let you have all you want. I make mine with strawberry jello, and it tastes just like strawberry preserves. My kids ate fig preserves all of their lives and never realized they were eating figs.
Which brings me to my thoughts while I was making jelly. When we were young, Martin picked berries and figs for me. He never complained, indeed he took pride in getting as many as he could for me. The scratches from the berry briars on his arms and hands were stripes of honor that he had earned trying to make me happy. Recently this spring, the berries came in with an abundance that I have not seen in years. Martin took me everyday to pick them. Some days, our grandkids would go with us, and once my sweet little nieces went to pick berries to make Father's Day jelly for thier daddy. We each had our buckets, mosquito spray, bottles of water and hats setting by the back door for the next mornings trip. I could not go into the thicket for a couple of reasons, the stickers, my terrible balance and a severe allergy to poison ivy. Martin would insist that I stay on the edge of the woods where the berries were plentiful, and he would take a machete, a stick and his bucket and plunge into the bushes. If the children went he would patiently show them how to take a stick and push back the stickers to reach the berries. How they loved going with us to the woods. Martin found berries that no one else could get to. I could see his head over the tops of the bushes and thicket, bobbing up and down as he picked and picked. While I stayed on the outside of the thicket, I would talk to him so he would know I was still there. Sometimes I gave up and flopped onto the soft grass in the shade of a tree, waiting for him to fill his bucket. While sitting there, I saw rabbits peeking out through the brambles, bees buzzing back and forth from a hive and a myriad of colors as wild birds flew in all directions. The air was so sweet, and while sitting there, I took the time to pray. Sometime the tears would flow as I realized all of the blessings I have in my life. One day, just when I thought my heart would burst with joy at the realization of all that I have been blessed with, I looked up and saw my sweetheart walking towards me, waving his bucket that I could clearly tell was filled to the top with fat, sweet dewberries. For an instant, he was once again the young man out in the fields with me, picking berries so that I could make jelly for our vacation money. His expression was the same, a happy little boy that had something wonderful just for me. If I thought my heart was full of joy before, I realized that it was nothing compared to the love I felt as Martin walked across that field toward me. I never did tell him of my thoughts, but I did thank him once again for his efforts to make me happy. And, once again, he had his stripes of honor, as his arms were crisscrossed with scratches.
I took the berries we picked this spring and put them into the freezer. I gathered jars, sugar and pectin and prepared to once again make jelly. Today, I finished making all that jelly, and the jars are lined up on the cutting board like trophies of love. I have shared some of it, and will put some up for the year ahead, and give some for christmas gifts, but I know that each time I open a jar and spread that jelly, I am spreading joy, love and memories.