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Illustration by April Dela Noche Milne
Every summer of my adult life I have bottled sunshine.
You will not find any jars of bought jams or jellies on my pantry shelves. Who wants all that sugar? Who wants those added preservatives? Who wants the added food dyes? My family wants fresh flavour, carefully enhanced, and preserved, from the freshest fruit grown in the amazing agricultural areas close to Toronto. Or, even better, grown in our own garden.
The only fruit from my garden that was good for bottling was the red currant. I had three bushes in my veggie patch. In mid-July they were laden with hanging clusters of shiny translucent red berries. As soon as I got home from work, I took a big bowl and sat myself down on a little stool beside the currant bushes. It took about an hour to fill the bowl: An hour of peace and contemplation about the riches of the Earth, and the beauty of the brilliant red berries among the green leaves as the sun got lower in the evening sky.
Straightening up was a bit of a shock for my back. I brought the bowl into the kitchen and dumped the harvest into a sink full of cold water. The water washed the dust off and the imperfect berries, occasional leaves, and a few earwigs floated to the surface so I could skim them off. The berries went into a big saucepan for a gentle boil to liberate the juice. The contents of the pot, stems and all, was hung in an old cotton pillowcase (jelly bag), suspended from two cupboard doorknobs. The red juice flowed into the pot below and overnight reduced to a trickle and then a drop.
Purists say not to squeeze the jelly bag, but I rarely listen to purists. The first thing I did the next morning was squeeze that bag to get out as much juice as possible. I always felt that the last squeezed bits contained the most pectin.
That evening after dinner I got out all the bottling gear: pint-sized mason jars, lids and rings, a very large pot, sugar, tongs, a jar clamp, spoons, and a medium pot. No bought pectin was in this list.
The juice was brought to a gentle boil for a couple of minutes. I added a maximum of 1½ cups of sugar. The bought-pectin method calls for at least twice as much sugar. Red currants don’t need that added pectin; they are naturally very rich in pectin. My method involved adding just enough sugar to bring out the flavour, tasting as I stirred, making sure it dissolved completely. The sweetened juice was brought to a boil again and gently boiled for a couple of minutes. Then it was poured carefully into the jars, not a drop wasted. The clear juice was a dark scarlet. Miraculously (or through years of experience) I always had the right number of jars. My single large bowl of red currants yielded six or seven pint-sized jars of jelly.
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My children and I, or my sister and I, have always enjoyed picking berries and fruit. In the heat of the summer, it is a bit of a chore, but it is such a celebration of our good Earth. The pick-your-own farms are all set up for us city-slickers. The walk out to the rows of fruit is full of anticipation. The hour or two of picking is laborious and fraught with momentous decisions: which is the best bush, when to move along the row, how high to fill the basket, should we just get a few more. Finally, the decision is made that we have enough, but we can’t resist picking a few choice berries on the way out. The walk back to the sales counter, laden with baskets of fruit, wet with perspiration, and sticky with the berry juice is often a tough slog. Then we have to pay for the bounty (never a bargain) and drive home quickly before the sun-warmed berries start to deteriorate in the trunk.
I don’t limit myself to red currants. Over the years, my pantry shelves have been filled with bottled summer sunshine. Rhubarb is the first crop in late spring. For me, strawberries are only so-so. Apricots make wonderful jam. Black currants and gooseberries are loaded with pectin. Plum sauce is tart and enticing. Bake apples (cloud berries) from Newfoundland have a distinctive flavour and beautiful colour. Grapes gel really well into glorious deep purple grape jelly. Blueberries make a good compote and, cranberries, the last berry crop of the year, make excellent gelled sauce.
The next step after bottling the sunshine is making the labels on my computer and taping them onto the jars. I usually take a photograph or two. Then I have to find space in my cupboard to store them all.
All winter we enjoy our bottles of sunshine. They are great on ricotta, ice cream, yogurt, or kefir. They are splendid on toast. They enhance a pork roast or Thanksgiving turkey. And some become hostess gifts for my friends.
Susanne Hynes lives in Toronto.