@Redmountainspa
By Nora Chetterbock, Spa & Wellness Assistant
In mid-June, I had the great fortune of sitting through presentations by my new hero, Dr. Bertice Berry, and because of her motivational skills I set out on an adventure I never dreamed I would do, let alone “plan!”
One of Dr. Berry’s topics was “What will be your legacy?” While I still haven’t decided what it will be, I know for certain my legacy won’t be one of homemaker, movie maker, moneymaker or “jelly maker.”
(Another Dr. Berry topic: Be grateful.)
Yes, at the age of 62 – and I’m proud to embrace that and be truly grateful that I AM 62(!) – I made plum jelly for the first time in my life! Well, amongst the batches of everything red, I did manage to have two successful batches of plum jelly.
In southern Utah, as in many of the southern states this year, we had a long, chilly winter. Because of those temperatures, everything green has flourished even the flowering plum tree that we were assured years ago would never bear fruit. Every year since it was old enough to sprout flowers, it has produced plums...red plums...little red plums...little red, sour plums...little red, sour, staining plums. And, every year, we pick what the birds don’t eat and discard them because they are more seed than fruit.
Not this year. We had a “bumper crop” of large red plums and there was more fruit than seed. As I sat looking at this poor tree whose branches were bending with the weight of the plums, I decided the least I could do was relieve their burden by picking the fruit.
With that thought in mind, in the coolness of the evening, I grabbed my roaster pan, a step stool and proceeded to pick, and pick and pick. As the branches lifted up, I heard “ahhhhh.” Well, that time of night, I’m liable to hear anything, but my roaster was full and the branches were, once again, raising themselves to the heavens barren of fruit.
Although I didn’t plan it this way, in May while garage sale shopping for a different project, I found a fruit colander (a metal and wood version of mortar and pestle) at a garage sale for $1.00. That brought back memories as my mother had one, and, although I didn’t learn from the best how to make jelly, I did watch her use that “thing." My thoughts at that moment were “one day I could use this to make plum jelly” never really thinking it would be so soon.
When I took my newly purchased childhood memory home, my dear, sweet hubby Lou wanted to know what the heck it was and what I planned to do with it. He knows I’m not Susie Homemaker, let alone jelly maker, so thought my treasure would probably end up in a future garage sale of our own. He’s learned to not say it and quietly, respectfully watched as I attempted to find a place to store this large but very practical “thing.”
(Dr. Berry: Plan your life, don’t plan your death. We’re going to die. That’s a given so “plan your life.”)
I decided to “plan” my weekend and make plum juice. If I stored the juice, I could make jelly later.
(Dr. Berry topic: Laugh.)
The comedic weekend actually began the night before when I decided to put the sprinkler on some bushes while I immersed myself in a great movie.
Lesson: ALWAYS set a timer, write a note, tie a ribbon around your finger, SOMETHING, to remind you to turn the water off!
The next morning started beautifully and, as I made my coffee, I noticed part of the patio was covered with water and assumed another sprinkler head had gone awry. As I started to walk towards the room Lou was in, I saw it - the sprinkler - and it was still sprinkling. To make a long story short, Lou helped me salvage the water and we got it into our pond.
There’s a reason I share that story with you. Trust me.
Remember, I have never made jelly, syrup or jam in my life. I just knew I had a colander “thing” and I could squeeze the juice out of every one of those plums without getting seeds in it because my mother did that after cooking the fruit.
I got out my giant pot to cook my bounty of plums, but didn’t want to heat the house while cooking them. So I filled my pot and my hubby lovingly lit the burner of the outdoor barbecue, and I put my pot of voluptuous plums to cook. After lighting the barbie, Lou left to run errands.
I decided to enjoy my coffee and newspaper on the patio while the plums cooked away. I didn’t think to find out how long I should cook them because in my mind it seemed my mother cooked the fruit for an eternity. I later learned 10 minutes is sufficient and now I remember that as a child 10 minutes was an eternity. After cooking about a half hour, I turned the burner to what I thought was LOW so my abundant pot of plums could “simmer” awhile.
I went back to my paper and coffee and some time later, I smelled fruit cooking. I smiled, drank the fragrance and reflected again on my childhood and mom making her jelly and fresh bread. After awhile it smelled like fruit being overly cooked so I thought I'd better check on my pot. It must be time to stir it. When I looked in the direction of the barbecue, my second wave of laughter hit. Laughter?! There below the barbie was the most beautiful red pool in the exact area the sprinkler flooded earlier.
That beautiful red stuff was all down the side of the barbie, the pot, in the burner and all I could think was, “What a waste. It’s gone...all that juice is gone forever.” Wrong, there was that much and more left in the pot. Wondering what went wrong, I reread the control and it was on HIGH not LOW.
(Dr. Berry, you didn’t tell me how to plan for diversions in your plan, but I am glad you told me to laugh because laughter got me through this latest incident.)
Fearing the plum juice, that beautiful red plum juice, would stain the flat rocks it now spread across, I hosed the area down and again salvaged the water by pushing it in the pond. The pond is already red so a little red juice won’t hurt it any. How ironic that I would be salvaging water twice in the same morning!
By this time I was so thankful I decided to cook my fruit outside because a hose made short work of the clean-up. The nightmare of cleaning red fruit juice out of light colored floor tile and gray grout just is more than I can bear. Again, I was so GRATEFUL for the southern Utah heat and outdoor barbies and ponds.
When the pot was sufficiently cooled, I carried it to the kitchen where my garage sale treasure, the colander, awaited. After successfully separating the seeds from the pulp and juice, the wood pestle is now the most beautiful color of red, along with the white pants I was wearing at the time. (Dumb, dumb, different story...suffice it to say the white pants survived after soaking, scrubbing and rubbing with a paste of cleanser.)
I now have a roaster full of red pulp, a pot full of red juice and a bowl full of seeds and red skins. Now what?
(Check back tomorrow for the rest of Nora's jelly adventure inspired by Dr. Bertice Berry.)
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