I’m going to send myself to bed without supper tonight. Not because I was a bad girl. But because I put well over 600 miles on my car in less than 24 hours and I’m beat. And nothing sounds good. Or healthy. And I had an unhealthy lunch. I will get hate mail for this, but aside from the lemonade, I fail to see what everyone else sees in Chick-fil-A. There. I said it.
In any case, I thought I was also too tired to remember any stories (because I meant to post photos of my St. George trip this weekend except I was driving most of the time and only took 3 pictures and not a single one of them turned out well) but then when I got to the part about going to bed without supper it made me think of how when I was a kid sometimes we really did go to bed without supper. Because (apparently) sometimes (but not always) I really was a bad girl. But what I remember most was those nights when what we had for supper was a slice of bread in a bowl of milk. Sometimes (but not always–I’ve generally had a hate-love–mostly hate relationship with jam most of my life) there would be a little spoonful of jam in the middle. But not often. At first I couldn’t imagine really enjoying eating bread and milk for dinner, because I remember at times the bread was cheap and the milk very well might have been powdered milk. And I have become a bit of a bread snob (Zack announced just tonight that our next joint venture will be artisan bread–I can’t wait!) and also a milk snob in my later years. But then I remember my mother often (not always) made homemade bread. And we had our own cows, so it very well could have been (sometimes–not always) not so bad.
I don’t remember. And maybe that’s a good thing.
So jam. When I think of jam I think of PBJs. And I cannot abide peanut butter with jam or jelly. CANNOT ABIDE. I do appreciate peanut butter. I prefer Jif (how this girl who was raised on Skippy actually came to prefer Jif I do not know, but it’s true). And only with honey. Come to think of it, I’m actually a honey snob, too. Local honey is truly the only way to go. One of Zack’s friends gave us some of their honey and it is a little taste of heaven on earth.
But back to jam. I never really cared for jam except for freezer jam made from fresh fruit. Even then I liked my toast simple. Just buttered (real butter). Looking back now, I have no idea why. Because let me tell you what I had access to, just in my back yard:
Blackberries/loganberries/marionberries–we never really knew for sure–grew wild along our back fence. They generally made it into our mouths or from-scratch pies before they could possibly have been made into jam.
Tart/Bing/Royal Anne Cherries – the pie cherries were also made into pies and the others were eaten fresh until they were canned. I remember as a kid I would climb to the very tops of our very tall cherry trees to pick all the cherries. And because I loved the heady rush that comes from climbing to the very tops of the trees. Now I am afraid of heights and can hardly bear to climb a ladder. But as a child, I was fearless when it came to climbing.
Raspberries – Pretty any that did not go into our mouths may have gone into ice cream. Except now that I think about it, it seems our preferred flavor of ice cream was vanilla. But I also remember my mother canning raspberries. My Aunt Jean still cans raspberries. They are divine. Such an incredible amount of work! Aunt Jean would always stock my grandmother’s shelves with bottled raspberries. Love in a jar, I kid you not. I watched it bring the both of them great pleasure. (Sometimes Aunt Jean would sneak me a bottle too, but don’t tell anyone. Love in a jar.).
Now I do not remember if the peaches and pears we canned were from our backyard or purchased (or given to us in trade), but there was plenty of those to go around as well.
In short, all the fruits were available right there in my back yard, but I didn’t truly love jam until a good friend of mine started giving me her absolutely fabulous raspberry freezer jam (along with a loaf of Great Harvest whole-grain bread–see, I told you, bread snob!). And I ate lingonberry jam every day for breakfast while I was in Finland. And I also discovered Bonne Maman’s Cherry Preserves. Which I will only buy when they’re marked at least dollars off. But which I love with all my heart.
I was once discussing my food snobbery with a couple of friends as I had realized yet another (rice. hello!).
“Dalene, you’re a snob about everything!” Rachel voiced out loud.
I had no response for that.
And then she added,
Those may have been some of the kindest words anyone has every said about me.
Maybe there is something to be said for bread and milk or going to bed without supper.