Blackberry Shrub -- Twelve Jars and a Pantry Filling for Winter

Morels Tuesday. Found a flush near the old oak. 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 86. She is the toughest person I have ever known. She still cooks every day in the company house in Evarts.

Fried green tomatoes. The garden's green ones. Cornmeal coated. Cast iron.

Travis called Tuesday. The landscaping company is busy. He sounds tired in a good way. Amber called Sunday. Things are good. James sends his regards.

The week held. The mountains were the mountains.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

Connie cut my hair on the porch Tuesday afternoon. She has been cutting my hair for forty years. The barber in Pineville cannot do what Connie does, which is also love.

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

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.

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

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

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.

Connie put up twelve jars of wild blackberry jam from the patch up the hollow on Saturday, and watching that pantry shelf fill gave me the same feeling as splitting that last piece of wood — something stored against the cold, something earned. A blackberry shrub is another way to hold onto what the hollow gave us this year: tart, a little sweet, made to last, and good enough to pour over ice or stir into something stronger on a porch-at-sundown kind of evening. Mama would recognize the instinct, even if she’d never call it anything but putting things by.

Blackberry Shrub

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 25 min plus 48 hours resting | Servings: 16 (makes about 2 cups syrup)

Ingredients

• 2 cups fresh wild blackberries, rinsed
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 cup apple cider vinegar
• 1/2 cup water
• 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
• 2 sprigs fresh thyme (optional)

Instructions

1. Macerate the berries. Combine blackberries and sugar in a non-reactive bowl. Use a fork or the back of a spoon to gently crush the berries into the sugar until a thick, dark syrup begins to form. Cover and let rest at room temperature for at least 2 hours, or refrigerate overnight for a deeper flavor.
2. Cook the syrup. Transfer the berry-sugar mixture to a small saucepan and add the water. Heat over medium-low, stirring gently, until the sugar is fully dissolved and the mixture just begins to simmer, about 8—10 minutes. Do not boil hard. Add thyme sprigs if using and stir once.
3. Strain. Pour the hot mixture through a fine-mesh strainer set over a heatproof bowl or measuring cup, pressing the solids with the back of a spoon to extract all the juice. Discard the pulp and seeds. Remove thyme.
4. Add vinegar. Stir the apple cider vinegar and kosher salt into the warm strained syrup until fully combined. Taste — it should be bright, tart, and sweet in equal measure.
5. Rest and store. Pour into a clean glass jar or bottle. Let cool to room temperature, then seal and refrigerate for at least 24 hours before using. The shrub will keep refrigerated for up to 3 months. The flavor deepens over the first few days.
6. To serve. Mix 1—2 tablespoons shrub with 8 oz sparkling water over ice for a refreshing soda. For an evening drink, stir 1—2 tablespoons into a glass of bourbon with a splash of water and a large ice cube. It also works stirred into iced tea or used as a salad dressing base with olive oil.

Nutrition (per serving, approximately 2 tablespoons)

Calories: 52 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 18mg