The Best Strawberry Freezer Jam

Cold week. The diesel in the tractor jelled. Worked at the construction company in Lexington this week. The body holds. Most days.

Connie at the vet clinic, four shifts this week. Her back is tired. She does not say so. I see it. Mama is 85. She is the toughest person I have ever known. She still cooks every day in the company house in Evarts.

Cornbread in the cast iron. No sugar. Buttermilk. Crisp edge. The way Mama made it. The way Mama's mother made it before her.

Travis called Tuesday. The landscaping company is busy. He sounds tired in a good way. Amber called from Louisville. Hospital is busy. Floor nurse to charge nurse to nurse manager — she is the most successful Hensley alive.

The week held. The mountains were the mountains.

The creek was running clear Sunday afternoon. I watched a kingfisher work the riffle. Did not move for an hour. Some Sundays the watching is the worship.

I split a half-cord of wood Saturday. Slowly. The back does not let me work fast anymore. It got done. The wood was for the smokehouse.

Worked on a basement remodel job in Lexington. The work was good. The pay was good. The body is tired.

Connie read aloud from a novel Tuesday evening while I worked on the bench. Some Appalachian writer she had picked up at the library in Whitesburg. The voice was the voice of where we live. We listened together.

Connie made jam Saturday afternoon. Wild blackberries from the patch up the hollow. Twelve jars. The pantry is filling for winter.

Sunday service at Harlan First Baptist when we go. Pastor preached about Ruth and Boaz. The choir sang. Connie wore her gray dress.

I checked the truck oil Saturday. The mileage on this truck is criminal.

I sat at the kitchen table Tuesday night working on the recipe project. Mama's soup beans. I cannot get the words right yet.

The neighbor up the road — Old Roy, eighty-seven, lives alone — had a small heart scare. We took him soup beans Tuesday. Cornbread too. He cried a little when he ate. We all cry over soup beans eventually.

Drove the truck to the dump Saturday afternoon. Saw three deer crossing the road on the way back. The mountains have been giving back this year.

The dog — old Beau, fifteen years old — slept by the wood stove all afternoon Tuesday. He used to be a hunting dog. Now he is a heating pad with opinions.

Amber sent the kids' school photos this week. Nadia is taller every year. Marcus has Amber's serious face. Little Betty has Mama's eyes.

Drove to Pineville for parts Wednesday. The hardware store man knew me. We talked about the weather and the price of feed. Forty minutes for a five-minute errand. That is rural Kentucky.

My back was tight after the wood-splitting Saturday. Took an Aleve. Slept eight hours. Got up.

Read the paper at breakfast Tuesday. The county news is not great. The mines have not come back and they will not come back. The young people leave. The hollows empty. We stay.

I sat on the porch with bourbon at sundown Friday. The fog rolled into the hollow the way it has every fog of every year. The porch was the porch. The bourbon was the bourbon.

Travis sent a photo of Earl Thomas riding on the mower with him at a job site. The boy is wearing a Hensley Landscaping T-shirt that's too big. Three generations on a mower. I saved the photo.

I went up to Earl's grave at the Evarts cemetery Saturday. Brought a beer. Drank half. Poured the rest on the dirt. Some traditions are mine alone.

Connie put up twelve jars of wild blackberry jam Saturday from the patch up the hollow, and watching those jars line up on the shelf — the pantry filling for winter — reminded me that this is how it has always been done here: you take what the mountains give and you put it by. We don’t have a strawberry freezer jam recipe in the family box yet, but this one earns its place next to Connie’s blackberry, next to Mama’s beans, next to everything that says you were ready when the cold came. If you’ve got berries and a few jars and an afternoon, this is the right work for a Saturday.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 20 min + 24 hr set | Servings: 48 (about 4 half-pint jars)

Ingredients

2 lbs fresh strawberries, hulled (about 4 cups crushed)
4 cups granulated sugar
1 package (1.75 oz) powdered fruit pectin
3/4 cup water
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Instructions

Crush the berries. Working in batches, mash the hulled strawberries in a large bowl using a potato masher or fork until you have 4 cups of crushed fruit. Do not puree — small chunks give the jam its character.
Stir in the sugar. Add all 4 cups of sugar and the lemon juice to the crushed berries. Stir well and let sit for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sugar begins to dissolve.
Cook the pectin. In a small saucepan, stir the powdered pectin into the 3/4 cup water. Bring to a full rolling boil over medium-high heat, stirring constantly. Boil hard for exactly 1 minute, then remove from heat.
Combine and stir. Pour the hot pectin mixture into the berry-sugar mixture. Stir vigorously for 3 minutes, making sure no sugar crystals remain on the bottom of the bowl.
Fill the jars. Ladle the jam into clean freezer-safe jars or containers, leaving 1/2 inch of headspace at the top to allow for expansion. Wipe the rims clean and seal with lids.
Set and store. Let the jars stand at room temperature for 24 hours until the jam sets. Store in the freezer for up to 1 year, or in the refrigerator for up to 3 weeks. The pantry is filling for winter.

Nutrition (per serving)

The Best Strawberry Freezer Jam — Like the Twelve Jars Connie Put Up Saturday