Everyone has her own way of working through stress: going for a run, kick boxing, furiously scrubbing something, breathing deeply, going to a
smash shack (please, please click on this link -- should I not take Ben there for a date?), or, as it turns out, making jam. I have found nothing more
therapeutic this week than busily chopping peaches, peeling apples, smashing blueberries, stirring bubbling frothy pots of fruit, and
ladling concoctions into jars.
There is some relief in working with my hands, in being in conversation but also on task. And also something wholly satisfying in a little sealed jam jar filled with what I've made.
After my
burned batch, I rallied -- so much, in fact, that Ben's tried to ban all jam making from the kitchen-turned-factory numerous times -- and have now made batches of strawberry, raspberry-peach, and blueberry. I'm hoping to make one more batch: peach.
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