A source of brown eggs was also identified (the wife of the man who gives button accordeon lessons at the Hollywood Community Centre on Saturdays), butter came in brown paper package tied up with string from one parent at the Steiner School, and another parent started a veg box scheme. We came to rely on our connections for fresh foods, and our very temporariness precluded the need to jam. For we already know we won't be here next winter.
But the habit--or instinct--is there: as the veggies turned the corner from dark greens and roots into the delicate first leaves and fruits, we rejoiced in rhubarb crumble, a sure harbinger of spring. Before we knew it, strawberries had joined the mix, and raspberries were on their heels. As the summer progressed in fits and starts, people complained that it would be another non-starter for shorts and beaches, but it meant that the berries just kept coming. And we happily gobbled raspberries (one punnet for the ride home, one to eat after supper).
And then the farmer, weary from stooping to pick all these berries while her belly swelled, but knowing that she would be happy to have them once the baby came, approached me: she had heard that I knew how to make jam, would I teach her? We set a date, exchanged emails: tender berries need a high-pectin fruit to gel into jam, did she have apples or some such? Crabapples were coming in, and purchased lemons would do for the strawberries.
We met at the school, and I discovered that her idea of a lot of fruit was a lot more than I could ever imagine. After enlisting kids to wash, cut and stir, we started batching jams. Six hours later, we had nearly 50 jars of jam, but we still had a small mountain of fruit. We called in the marines, or rather another mother who had said she could take any extra. Dumping half our remaining heap on her, we jammed on for another two hours, until we thought our feet would fall off.
Needless to say, there was no energy to make supper, so I put in a call to the old man to meet us at the Ballymore Inn. Over terrific food, we regaled him of our hard work, and showed him the six jars that came home with us. We will have to finish them up before we leave, or use them as thank yous for the amazing people who have lent a hand along our way here. And maybe, just maybe, we can bring a bit of Kildare sunshine back to the emerald forests of the Pacific Northwest.
