It is the season of fruit. Starting in late June, we are awash in fresh fruit and berries: strawberries, raspberries, cherries, gooseberries, blueberries, currants all fill the bowls in our house, week following week. We pick blueberries by the pound, eating them by handfuls after lunch. By mid-July, we have the larger fruit. First, the plums in the front yard ripen over several weeks, east branches to west branches. Then peaches cross our paths, although we do not have a tree. Apples thump on the roof of the van at midnight, echoing into the backyard. The fig trees branches are so loaded down that they reach the ground, and the persimmons and jujubes are slowing ripening to finish the season. Last year, we planted a pear tree; this year we added an Italian plum and cherry, as well as two columnar apples. We live in an orchard.
A month ago, I cleaned out the shelves in the basement that hold our canned goods. I threw out the old zucchini relish (really, we don’t eat it) and a batch of pickles that was too salty, and then evaluated what I needed to process this year. NO apple butter. Yes to rhubarb marmalade. Every few days throughout August, I dry or jam or press our fruit—including tomatoes. Using the steam canner, which lets me process on batch of crock-pot tomato sauce at a time, I slowly fill the shelves downstairs. We will eat this bounty all winter long.
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