The Eight-Year-Old Frozen Strawberries

My 93-Year Old Mother Made Strawberry Jam

                Recently, Mother inquired, “What is in the big freezer?” The large chest-style vintage freezer has steadily kept items frozen since it was purchased brand new in 1970. It has continually frozen food stuff for Mother except for a brief few hours last summer when one of the beloved farm cats apparently unplugged the well-used appliance. Needless to say, I spent some time standing on my head as I cleaned the mess.

                After reporting on the frozen items she had in the chest freezer, she requested I bring to her the oldest strawberries I could find. This task was relatively easy since Mother labels and dates every item put into the freezer. I located a repurposed cottage cheese carton full of strawberries that Mother had processed in 2010. Since Mother had never been one to waste, I used her as the example of the proverb, Waste Not, Want Not, in my explanation of its meaning to my third graders. She introduced me to recycling and repurposing.

                This week she turned the oldest frozen berries into strawberry jam. I returned from feeding the cattle to find her strawberry mixture bubbling on the stove in an old kettle. The sweet savor of the cooking berries reached my nose upon coming in the back door.

Mother's recently labeled jar of
 strawberry preserves.

                As Mother filled the two jars, I asked her if she planned to sample the jam with her toast the next morning. The usual plan, over the years, had always been label what one is canning, preserving, or freezing. The jars or bags were then stockpiled in the appropriate places until the need for this stored food would occur. The family never opened or tasted the preserved delectables until a much later time. 

The Partial Jar of Strawberry Preserves

                She smiled and laughingly answered, as she pointed to the half-filled pint glass jar, “I plan to open this partial jar at breakfast tomorrow.” I expressed my surprise and delight that she would be spreading her strawberry jam on her toast so soon. Then I told her, “I think I’ll try it, too.”

                We both enjoyed thoroughly the toast lightly spread with the delicious homemade strawberry jam made from 8-year-old frozen strawberries. I couldn’t help but think about Dad as I spread the jam thinly over my piece of toast. He would have liberally slathered his toast with the fragrant strawberry jam, as he said to Mother, “Now, Honey, you’ve got you something there!”

Thinly spread strawberry preserves on toast. 
Mother thinks breakfast is an important meal.
Each morning she serves a hearty bowl of oatmeal 
with banana slices and a golden toasted piece of 
whole wheat bread with a cup of coffee to drink leisurely.

                 Sometimes, with a smile, I look at Mother and say, “It doesn’t take much to make us happy.”
The verse in Proverbs 17:1 came to mind:
A dry crust of bread eaten in peace and quiet is better than a feast eaten where everyone argues.


Afterthought - Mother mentioned how much canning, preserving, and freezing she has done over her life. She recalled 56 years ago, when she, Dad, and her parents moved to the farm she and Dad had purchased 3 years earlier. With the help of relatives, they had hastily built Mother's present house. So much needed to be done - the barn built, cattle lots built, two chicken houses constructed, as well as a brooder house for baby chicks. Landscaping, fencing, and numerous other tasks were needed to be completed. Dad took off one year from carpentering to work with my maternal grandparents to get things the way they wanted them.
As we savored our toast with the strawberry preserves, she remembered one day that first year, "Angie was a baby. You were only five. I was so tired I could hardly stand up, but I knew how hard Mom, Daddy, and Edmund were working outside. I had to get the canning done."
Mother was in her late thirties, canning in a kitchen, with no air conditioning, and doing it all herself. She remarkably waited over a half-century to voice her weariness that day.

The last Saturday of January found Mother preparing
a pork roast that I had nagged her about getting
out of the freezer because I was sure it was past being
good. But as always, my 93-year-old mother, knew
it would be good and it was. Plus, we will have many
more tasty meals from her culinary achievement with
the pork roast. I thank the Lord every day for Mother.