Apple or Crabapple Butter
The torments of my childhood summers now deliver quiet pleasure to all of my seasons. As children, my brothers and I dreaded the inevitable annual regimens. They were announced by my parents, “Don’t make any plans for this weekend. We’re freezing corn.” Or beans or peas or asparagus. There was variety in the ultimata: making applesauce, tomato juice, tomato sauce, or canned tomatoes called “stewies”. Much of the picking of berries and vegetables was designated to the males. As many other chores were delegated as women’s work, I fumed as my brothers went off to play while I helped make jams and jellies or pickles or canned peaches or pears.
These were often boisterous activities with passels of aunts, uncles, cousins, one grandmother or another thrown into the mix. After all the work of picking, shucking, silking, blanching, cutting, bagging, boxing, labeling, transferring to the freezer, hauling cobs to the compost, cleaning the kettles and kitchen were finally accomplished, we’d have a feast of a picnic. (more…)