My Blueberry Heaven

What exactly, does one do with 21 pounds of blueberries?

I suppose, I could freeze them for the winter, but, honestly, I’ve got this bee in my bonnet about making jam. I’ve heard it’s difficult, and pissy; not to mention, a bitch to jar, seal, and store…and all that after boiling it to the point of no return. However, the soothing qualities of being amassed in steam, wafting up from open pans boiling and burbling in continuem, renders me nealy comatose with longing to take on this project. Plus, I’ve pied my way to eternity and beyond, with six to deliver to various and sundry neighbors, friends, strangers….add in the lemon scented pound cake studded with ripe, juicy blueberries - so many it took an extra 20 minutes to bake - and I’m really starting to warm to the jam idea.

First, according to the ‘erections, as H calls them, I need about ten pounds of sugar, jam jars with the vacuum seal lids, and roughly 10 pounds of blueberries. I’ve more than that, but sure, we’ll start small. No need to go nuts, yes? Lemons, fresh are a must - supposedly you may use concentrate, by why bother, when the fresh are so much better? And time. I don’t want to rush the measuring, the boiling, hearing the gentle swell of fruit coming to a boil - perhaps, while it’s boiling, I’ll pop some muffins in the oven…

Amid all the snarky ex-husband issues that have dominated my week, and the drunken excess to which I fully participated, the show, job hunting and selling the house, I find myself embracing even this one afternoon of solitude and peace, occassionally punctuated by the rising aroma of blueberry something baking away, jam on the stove, as a break from the hassle and bustle of Real Life in this age.

How lovely would it be, to slip back in time?

Scratch that. I’d be stuck with outhouses, jarring everything I could find for winter, and turning my leftover potato sacks into clothing and mittens to gaurd against the harsh winter ahead.

Perhaps, then, all the better to brew some hot, fresh, strong tea,don an apron, and focus on carfully hulling berries. If only for one afternoon, to slip into My Blueberry Heaven, where the only thing of demanding importance lies in adding pectin and sugar, lemon juice and love to a bubbling cauldron, then seived and divded among very clean glass jars.