Raspberry Peach Jam

Beans up. Tomatoes setting. The garden is Connie's, but I weed it. 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.

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 Sunday. Things are good. James sends his regards.

I sat on the porch with a bourbon at sundown. The fog was already settling in the hollow.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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 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.

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

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.

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.

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.

Connie made jam Saturday afternoon — wild blackberries from the patch up the hollow, twelve jars lined up on the counter — and watching that pantry fill up felt like the most honest thing I saw all week. We won’t have blackberries forever, and winter has a way of reminding you of that. This raspberry peach jam isn’t Mama’s recipe, and it isn’t Connie’s either, but it belongs to the same idea: put something good away while you can, and the cold months won’t feel so long.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 5 half-pint jars

Ingredients

2 cups fresh raspberries
2 cups fresh peaches, peeled, pitted, and finely chopped (about 3 medium peaches)
3 cups granulated sugar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 packet (1.75 oz) fruit pectin
1/4 teaspoon butter (to reduce foaming)

Instructions

Prepare jars. Sterilize 5 half-pint canning jars, lids, and bands in boiling water for 10 minutes. Keep warm until ready to fill.
Crush the fruit. In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, combine raspberries and chopped peaches. Use a potato masher or fork to crush the fruit until you reach a chunky-smooth consistency. You should have about 3 cups of crushed fruit.
Add pectin. Stir in the fruit pectin, lemon juice, lemon zest, and butter. Bring the mixture to a full rolling boil over medium-high heat, stirring constantly.
Add sugar. Add all the granulated sugar at once. Return to a full rolling boil that cannot be stirred down and boil hard for exactly 1 minute, stirring constantly.
Skim and test. Remove from heat and skim off any foam. To test set, place a small spoonful on a chilled plate — it should wrinkle slightly when pushed with a finger after 30 seconds.
Fill jars. Ladle hot jam into warm sterilized jars, leaving 1/4 inch headspace. Wipe jar rims clean with a damp cloth, apply lids and bands fingertip-tight.
Process. Process filled jars in a boiling water canner for 10 minutes. Remove and let cool undisturbed on a towel for 12–24 hours. Check seals before storing — lids should not flex up and down.

Nutrition (per serving, approximately 2 tablespoons)

Raspberry Peach Jam — Putting Up the Pantry Before Winter Comes