Precipitation

Somewhere up in the Sierra foothills the elevation finally reaches 2300 feet, long before you get to Tahoe but up quite a ways from Sacramento. And sometimes during the winter the Pacific Ocean apparently decides to evaporate and fall on northern California.

At the 2300 foot point, the water falling from the sky changes from crappy why-the-hell-am-I-out-in-the-freezing rain to fat, pretty snowflakes that make everything into a lovely winter postcard. That’s about where I am, in Placerville, as you can see on the map. If you go up another 1,000 feet in elevation or so the fat, pretty snowflakes turn into oh-crap-the-road-is-closed. And that, pretty much, has been my day.

Well, pretty much.

I also lay on the couch and watched tiny finches arguing over birdseed outside the window. I bought fruit and wine at a roadside stand in the rain amid trees bright with fall leaves. I saw the latest Harry Potter movie and cried at a certain part that anyone who’s read the books will probably know instantly. I sliced my finger open making soup and discovered none of us have any band-aids, so my finger currently is bandaged with a cotton pad and Scotch tape. I tried to figure out the technique involved in the intricate pine needle basket that my brother’s girlfriend wove and watched my cat nap on a windowsill. I had hot chocolate and the loveliest chocolate zucchini cake in a a tiny coffee shop in an evergreen forest while watching snow fall. We built a fire in the woodburning stove, but I did not cook on that stove, despite being challenged to do so.

Sometimes the best days are quiet days where nothing much is really accomplished.

Halloween 2010

Halloween was a low-key affair this year. No pumpkin carving, no costumes.

Instead of the usual ideas, we took a Sunday trip with my brother and his girlfriend to Point Reyes with Wesley. Jeff and I couldn’t visit the lighthouse, unfortunately (no dogs allowed) but we did get a chance to walk along the ocean. It was a beautiful day with a chill in the air. We will be back to enjoy this again. The area is quiet and more of a trek than I’d realized, although not really that far from my house. I smell a weekend getaway.

Wesley, as it turns out, likes water and thought sand was fun, but is terrified of the ocean. The booming sound of the waves crashing on shore scare him. He is also afraid of thunder, and that’s pretty much what it sounded like. Huge waves, people. Big surf. Wind and waves and sand. It always makes me want to learn how to sail.

We did get a bit into the spirit last Thursday by attending an evening of classic witch movies at SFMOMA. We saw Season of the Witch and Suspiria. Not scary at all, and with great intelligent introductions by staff. Although I really didn’t need the intro to Season of the Witch, because George Romero is about as subtle in his themes as a battle axe.

The Giants won another game in the World Series that night and although I have precious little enthusiasm for sports teams (and that mostly reserved for hockey game fights and Olympic swimming), it is rather fun to walk amongst a crowd of happy, celebrating people. Albeit somewhat drunk. Well, a lot drunk. It was funny. Drunk people will high-five anyone.

Thus begins the holiday season. I’m told the waves get bigger and the beaches get smaller. Sounds like fun!

Homemade Strawberry Jam

Last weekend I ventured out to Sweet Berry Farm in Marble Falls. Through mid May (this was pretty much the last possible week) you can go there and pick your own strawberries. Starting about now they have blackberries. In October they will have pumpkins. I’m in!  So after an hour or so in the sun, two of us managed to fill a couple of boxes with ripe strawberries.

You may remember that two years ago I canned some peaches. Er, a lot of peaches. Even though I haven’t done any canning in a while, when my husband told me about a pick-your-own-strawberries place near Austin, I felt suddenly inspired. You see, there are few things in life I love more than strawberry jam. This started me thinking. Self, I said, what if you made your own jam? Would that not be awesome?

Picking the strawberries was just the first part. I took them home and watched a movie, chopping off the stems and the squishy bits. My hands ended up so red I thought they would never come clean. Strawberries also have a lot of citric acid, so I think I pickled my hands really well too. My fingers didn’t feel right for a while.

But eventually, I had altogether a gallon of strawberries, several boxes of low-sugar pectin, a whole lot of 1/4 pint and 1/2 pint jars, and some honey.  First, there was the mashing. Then there was the cooking. Four cups of strawberries, a cup of apple juice, a box of pectin and a cup of honey. Sterilize the jars.

Pour the jam into jars.  Clean up the jars. Process the jars. Set out to cool. Clean the equipment. Repeat 3 more times.

And in the end?  11 pints of jam, all of which set, and none of which is still liquid!  That’s pretty exciting. If some of it had not jelled, or something else catastrophic had occurred, I would have been very upset. It takes a while to pick and prepare a gallon of strawberries!

I tasted the jam tonight. It’s perhaps not as sweet as what you might buy in the store – strawberries are tart and sweet, and my jam really tastes like that. I didn’t add any processed sugar, only honey, so it doesn’t have that jell-o consistency of store-bought jam. It’s not quite preserves, not quite jam. It is very tasty, though, at least I think so.

Since it made way more than I imagined, I will be giving a few jars away. I can’t promise anyone a darn thing about it, nor vouch for every jar being the exactly the same. Still, if you’re a fan of strawberry jam, and you’d like some, let me know. You can probably have some!