The Best Jam.

It always rained in autumn
Mum, holding her old “Trug”
We trudged to New River Walk
No one’s hedges were safe.
Blackberries, Blueberries, Rosehips
We gathered while she told us the names
My turn to carry the burgeoning feast
The basket getting heavier.
My six year old legs ached
I forget all the names-
but even nettles were cropped
Eventually we turned to home.
The great big cauldron
Seemed to sigh
Sitting smug on the iron range top
Mum – raking the ember red fire.
Magic filled that huge great pot
As berries filled its belly
Pectin, sugar and a thousand spells
Turned my aches to jelly.
Jar on Jars, filled to the brim
Scalding hot
The sweet nectar within
Within days was spread upon our bread.
Such jam as only the Gods might taste
Were ours to scrape with crusts
Sitting at the table
Mums Jam was JUST…
The Best.

This entry was posted in Autobiography, Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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