With my last jar of jam (apricot) spoken for, I am officially out of preserves.
Seasonal changes surround me, bare branches have a costume change, bluebells break through beds of dried leaves, and winged choruses serenade me early and often. The signs of spring are not only witnessed from a hammock view or back porch perch, but from the shelves of the kitchen pantry.
Like hourglasses, canning jars tell time, once brimming with summer’s bounty, their new-found emptiness awaits another harvest and more tall tales of what tastes best. Winter may hang on a little longer, but the shine of glass jars before me suggests its reign is nearing an end and I will once again have the opportunity to capture another season’s goodness one harvest and spoonful at a time.