Plum Good
I have fond, if hot, memories of my parents making plum and grape jelly. I remember accompanying them to pick the plums at least once when I was very small, probably too small to do much actual picking. I can definitely conjure up the feeling of intense heat in our kitchen during the creative process. It was memorable. (And it was the same when they put up pickles a little later in the summer). This was before we had central air and heat.
As I remember, I gratefully escaped to one of the two rooms with A/C units—-and lost myself in a Nancy Drew mystery book. 
I remember spending many happy summer days that way. If it was too hot to ride a bike, play a little kickball with the neighborhood kids, or climb a tree, I wanted to read, make something, or go to my friend Pat’s house to sit in their one air conditioned room. Pat had brothers, and her brothers had friends. So we might bring out a board game (at which I always lost), play with little cars, or read comic books. If the boys weren’t around, we might haul out the dolls. Whatever we did, it always seemed to be accomplished on the floor.
We all have memories of summer. My own remembrance of plum jelly manufacture unfortunately didn’t include how to actually do it. So when our neighbors kindly offered us some plums last week — and asked if I knew how to make jelly; the gentleman’s response to my negative answer was to suggest it was about time for me to learn! And I agreed.
The first time one does anything, it’s an adventure. Zack chided me for even attempting this project, as busy as I am these days. We have an expression that covers this sentiment perfectly. Like several other of my most beloved expressions, this one was translated badly from Yiddish, by a relative I never even knew. It was passed down — with several of her other gems — by her daughter, my mother’s first cousin, now also sadly long gone. The expression goes like this, “If you don’t have any trouble, go out and buy yourself a little pig.” The point is that if things are going too easily or too smoothly, we always seem to find ways to busy ourselves — so that we become overwhelmed again.
When Zack suggested that perhaps I didn’t really need yet another project, I casually dropped the fact that HE was the one who wanted bees recently. I rest my case. New experiences are almost always welcomed here, for experiences make memories. And the way things often turn out; they give me something to write about.
The next day found me on a ladder picking plums from the overloaded tree. The neighbor admitted that several others had already taken what they needed. I don’t know what he does to that tree, but it was amazing. He and I picked enough for at least one big batch of jelly or jam. His wife offered to share her recipe, and I was grateful. But when I saw it was from Joy of Cooking, I told her not to bother, because I had my own copy. (As it turned out, MY newer edition had NO recipes for jelly. I suppose the editors decided modern cooks didn’t have the time and declared jelly making a lost art). I decided to trust the recipe included with the Sure Jell box, novice that I was.
I believe this must have been a banner year for plums. Both our local groceries had completely sold out of the regular package (as opposed to the variety for low or no sugar jelly) of Sure Jell. In desperation I close another brand and was grateful to find it. (Probably contains the exact same ingredients and formula, like generics and name brand pharmaceuticals). Zack’s father’s wife reported the same shortage at Wal-Mart and another store or two near them. As it turned out, I was forced to delay my jelly making for a day. By that time, Sure Jell was again available, and that was what I used. I suppose I’m a victim of name brand recognition.
So I learned how to make the jelly. (Zack chose that day to disappear into his shop to fashion a workbench that absolutely couldn’t wait). It turned out I had enough plums for two batches of jelly. The time was easier than the first, of course. And if we have as many grapes as I think we might, I plan to make grape jelly as well. There is no doubt that it was/will be hot, sticky, messy work. There was gorgeous, fuscia colored juice on every surface, including me. I was in the kitchen for hours, cleaned up twice, once for each batch. But to show for it, I have 11 jars of gorgeous, plum jelly, and am very, very proud of myself, in the same way I’m proud that I can drive a stick shift, haul hay, stretch fence, write a story, draw, paint, sculpt, knit, or “clean up good” (to the point, thank goodness, that people who see me during my normal work days don’t recognize me. But on the other hand, this certainly says something about my everyday appearance).
Our senses can trigger memories buried deep within our brains — the smell of gardenias or sheets just off the line — the sound of church bells, a train whistle, birdsong, or a screen door — the rough texture of a cat’s tongue, the softness of a baby’s skin, the warmth of a puppy or kitten. The first taste of my very own homemade plum jelly rewarded me with memories of a thousand childhood mornings in an instant — when exactly the same unique taste was part of my breakfast.
