Watermelon Jelly

Late August. Corn coming on. 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.

Venison steaks Tuesday. From the buck I got in November. Cast iron, butter, salt, pepper.

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.

Earl would have known what to say about that. Earl is not here. I said nothing. I went on.

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.

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

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

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 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 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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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 twelve jars of wild blackberry jam that Saturday, and watching her work the stove reminded me that putting food up is its own kind of faith — same as splitting wood, same as checking on Old Roy, same as pouring half a beer on a grave. The venison steaks were mine to cook, cast iron and simple, but this watermelon jelly is hers in spirit: summer fruit turned into something that keeps, something that says the hollow will be fed come January. I wrote it down the same night I was trying to get Mama’s soup beans right. Some recipes find you before the words do.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 48 (makes about 3 half-pint jars)

Ingredients

4 cups watermelon juice (from about 6 cups cubed seedless watermelon, pureed and strained)
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 package (1.75 oz) powdered fruit pectin
4 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon butter (to reduce foaming)

Instructions

Prepare the watermelon juice. Cube the watermelon and remove any seeds. Working in batches, blend until smooth, then pour through a fine mesh strainer or cheesecloth into a large measuring cup. Press gently to extract juice. Measure exactly 4 cups.
Sterilize the jars. Wash three half-pint canning jars, lids, and bands in hot soapy water and rinse well. Keep jars warm in a low oven (200°F) or in hot water until ready to fill.
Cook the jelly base. Combine the watermelon juice and lemon juice in a large, deep saucepan over medium-high heat. Whisk in the powdered pectin and the butter. Bring the mixture to a full rolling boil, stirring constantly.
Add the sugar. Add all the sugar at once, stirring to dissolve. Return to a full rolling boil that cannot be stirred down and boil hard for exactly 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and skim off any foam with a metal spoon.
Fill the jars. Ladle the hot jelly immediately into the prepared warm jars, leaving 1/4 inch headspace. Wipe jar rims clean with a damp cloth. Center the lids and apply the bands until fingertip-tight.
Process in a water bath. Place filled jars in a boiling water canner, ensuring jars are covered by at least 1 inch of water. Process for 10 minutes. Remove jars and let cool undisturbed on a towel for 12 to 24 hours. Check that lids have sealed (center should not flex). Store sealed jars in a cool, dark place for up to one year.

Nutrition (per serving)

Watermelon Jelly — When the Pantry Fills for Winter