Cherry Jam

My inner Martha Stewart is such a happy camper right now. We went to visit the Polish Mafia* yesterday. Fred's Aunt Linda has a sour cherry tree in her back yard, one that's grown from a cutting of another that used to be in her aunt's back yard. (Everything in this family spans the generations.) Nobody usually does anything with the cherries because they're really tart, but Fred and his mom and I decided to have at them. We picked as many as we could stand, and then picked a whole bunch of the black raspberries that were growing around the foot of the tree. So today for the first time I made jam!!



If you've never canned anything, the popping sound that the lids make to let you know you did it right is about the happiest thing ever. I don't know if this will all set like it's supposed to, and I sure hope it tastes good. But it was magical and now I want to can everything in sight.

* Fred's family. Both of his parents have Polish ancestry, and when their families immigrated they settled in a predominantly Polish town as was often the case back in the day. Generations have passed and much of the family is still in the same area. I think this is a cool thing. My family is pretty scattered, and I grew up in a relatively diverse area. Diversity is great, but my town doesn't have much of a unifying identity. Fred talks about the people he grew up going to church with, and almost everyone has a Polish last name. Everyone knew him when he was a baby. Many of them knew his mother when she was a baby! His family gatherings are large, boisterous and happen frequently. It's a little intense. Yes, we're getting married out there. Yes, it will be a little like "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" in reverse. Yes, I'm taking his last name and joining the fray. But they are totally awesome and I do love them.