Strawberry jams forever

Last weekend, my friend Liz and I went strawberry picking at Rowe's Produce Farm. It was a gorgeous day, without a cloud in sight to mar the brilliant cerulean sky. Driving through the wide paths carved out between the berry patches, the sweet, succulent aroma of the strawberries wafted through the open windows of the car and made my mouth water. Even before we started, we knew we were in for a treat.

I had wanted to get a good start on the day and arrive early to ensure the berry patches weren't picked over, but I needn't have worried. The patch we visited must have been as large as a football field – and it was only one of many. The neat rows of bushes hid a wealth of berries beneath their verdant leaves, each one redder and riper and readier for picking than the last. As children ran about, chattering and exclaiming over and over that they found “a big one!” Liz and I sat down in the straw-lined rows and got to work, carefully harvesting our red gold.

Every now and then, I'd pop a berry into my mouth. Barely fuzzy as only freshly picked strawberries can be, warm from the sun, and impossibly juicy, they were the essence of spring's bounty in one sweet, sticky mouthful.

After about an hour of focused picking and occasional conversation, our oversized cardboard trays were full to overflowing and we were ready to check out. It was hard to walk away – even with a full (and heavy!) tray, there were so many more berries just calling out to be picked. At the check-out station, I was surprised to discover I had picked some fifteen pounds of berries – a steal at only twenty dollars.

Driving home and away from the endless fields of berries, it began to strike me just how many berries I had. I knew I was going to make strawberry shortcake; that used about three quarts and barely made a dent in my haul. There are only so many berries you can eat on yogurt and ice cream before you feel you've got berries coming out your ears - and after gorging myself for a day or so, I had about reached my limit.  My freezer space was limited, so there was only one real choice – jam.

I've been thinking about preserving for a while – in fact, I've had a huge book on canning checked out of the library for a few months now – but I'd never actually tried my hand at it. Reading the directions was a little nerve wracking: there are so many steps, and if you don't do everything just right, and get everything perfectly sterile and at the proper temperature, you're probably going to get botulism and die. Who'd have thought something as sweet and innocent as strawberry jam could be so dangerous?

But I guess I like to live on the edge – I dove right in, hulling and stirring and jarring and boiling.  At the end of the process, all my jars popped closed almost as soon as I removed them from their boiling bath – a very encouraging sign.  The next day, they all still seemed to be closed.  Success!  My reward is now a cupboard full of sunshiney strawberry fields, just waiting to brighten my days in cold winter months to come.  The extra jam has been covering my toast all week, and it's been the perfect way to start my days.

I'd offer you a recipe, but since this was my first time making jam, I'd really recommend finding a more reputable source like the book I used.  Someday soon – maybe after we've gotten through raspberry and apple picking seasons – I hope I'll be able to provide some tips and tricks of my own.  For now, get thee to a strawberry field before the season ends and get to work!  Your mouth will thank you.