canned.

First of all, I love windfall fruit. Second, I love pears. Third, I love putting them up in jar after sparkling jar where their champagney color shines through. But, sometimes when canning, I start feeling overwhelmed. Oh, say, for instance when I got through my 5th batch of preserves and a healthy stash of baby food, and realized that I still had about 10 pounds of pears left. That said, there's something about just soldiering through them all and getting it done.

Canning some 40 pounds of pears has taught me a lot about why I like to preserve. To me, there's a great feeling of safety in feeling like food has been set aside, lying in wait. Canning is also a metaphor for turning what's been stifled into something good. What does that mean? It means that for every time I've been stressed out, and chosen to get to work with this stuff, I've ended up with a beautiful collection of jars to share. A good many times I've known in my heart that it's not wise to talk about my feelings, so I've bottled them up, put them in jars, sealed them, and shown them off here. In short, I find that the amount that I can is directly proportional to how overwhelmed or vexed I feel. It calms me down.

To wit, the past two weeks' therapeutic canning has been brought to me by my friend Krista, who gave me all of these knotty, little pears. I've worked off a basic pear preserve recipe which reminds me of my Nana's work. She somehow managed to create long ribbons of those hard, farm pears which cooked up beautifully in wide breadth, and then were stuffed into jars with their syrup. This time, I've cooked up the original recipe, but I've also made it four other times: Once with a vanilla bean infused in the syrup, another time with a nice splash of Grand Marnier, again with chopped, crystalized ginger, and most recently with ginger with the addition of a chopped red delicious apple and a dash of cinnamon. Here we go...

Pear Preserves:
4ish cups chopped pears (to your liking, but I worked with thin, wide slices)
2 TBS bottled lemon juice (consistent pH, yo.)
4ish cups sugar
1 pkg. pectin
1/2 tsp. butter (if desired to reduce foaming)

Peel, core and slice pears as you like to yield about four cups. I say "about" because I think that some pears are more watery and/or crispier than others.

gratuitous adorable baby with pears shot...

In a nice sized pot, place your pears, lemon juice, and any flavoring you might add--this would be the time to introduce that vanilla bean, liqueur or ginger. (I think I used half of a whole vanilla bean split down the middle) Stir well, and then sprinkle the pectin on top of the mixture.

mmm...pectin!

Bring to a rolling boil, then add your sugar, and bring back to a boil for about 3 minutes or to reach roughly 220 degrees F.


While the pears are cooking, I usually bring my water bath to a good boil and sterilize my jars and rings. In a separate bowl with boiling water, I warm my lids. Once the fruit mixture has fully cooked, turn off the heat and get ready to fill the jars that you've naturally readied to fill. Using a canning funnel, fill the jars to ~1/4 inch of the top, wipe the rims with a wet cloth, pop the lids on and screw on the rings.


Process at a rolling boil for 12 minutes. This means I usually process them for 15 minutes because it takes a tiny bit to bring the pot back to a boil. Finally, you're left with just the pretty, popping lidded jars on the counter. This recipe yields about 3 pints (6 half pint jars) per batch, and is dedicated to everyone who has ever been told to put a lid on it, that nobody cares if they scream, or has been left to silently "white knuckle" their way through life. Pop off that lid---there's a whole jar full of sweetness.

wild apple butter

"Windfall: Function: noun; Date: 15th century
1 : something (as a tree or fruit) blown down by the wind
2 : an unexpected, unearned, or sudden gain or advantage"

I went to visit my sweet friend on St. Simons Island over the 4th of July weekend. As always, good times, juicy conversations, and rolicking laughter were abundant. Also in
abundance? Beautiful, small apples from my friend's tree. The best surprise was the bag of almost 10 pounds of apples that came to me after she had taken her little Westie on his morning promenade! The naive, yet ambitious canner in me decided to try for a batch of the richest, spiciest apple butter to rival even that which is spread on your raisin toast on a midnight run to Waffle House. (really. sort of.)

see those sweet, little apples?

Anyway, I've never really been good with a recipe, but I peeled every last apple, and then steamed them in the microwave with scant apple cider vinegar. Working in batches, I fed them through the food mill on my Kitchenaid mixer. I had forgotten how fun it is to watch the yummy puree plop into the bowl while the yucky pulp, seeds, and core head out the back door of the extruder.

the food mill is the neatest thing!

Some 80 ounces of puree later, I pulled out my crock pot and dumped every last bit of the apples in. I cooked the puree on high for one hour, and added a generous tablespoon of cinnamon, a heavy teaspoon of ginger, and then irresponsibly sprinkled nutmeg and allspice in unknown quantities over the apples. After one hour, I gave the apple butter a good stir, and then set the temperature on my slow cooker to low. I allowed the mixture to cook overnight, and then was thrilled to be greeted by the most fantastic smell in the kitchen the next morning.

As soon as the baby was settled in his bouncy seat, I got to the business of preparing the jars, lids, and water bath. When everything was ready, I carefully ladled out enough apple butter for 10 half pint jars--and just enough leftover to spread on toast! I processed the jars for 12 minutes, and then got to hear the glorious, "POP! POP! POP!" as they cooled on the counter.


The more I read about "windfall" fruit, the more intrigued I am. There seem to be account after account of produce going unclaimed. Now I'm starting to have fantasies of getting the call to dash off and rescue 15 pounds of ripe plums, the fruit of a mysterious blackberry patch or a tree full of Turkey figs in the middle of a city. Getting this bounty from my friend has just fueled the excitement, which, of course sort of reminds me of that scene in the movie Juneau when the title character sarcastically tells her stepmother to "Dream big!" upon hearing about her desire to have Weimaraners.

Maybe it's not dreaming too big, but there's something therapeutic and satisfying about "putting up" jar after jar of food. There's some base level feeling of security in knowing that (go ahead, dramatically put the back of your hand to your forehead.) your family will have food squirreled away.

What's next? Peach Jam. After that? Peach Salsa. Must make the most of the last few weeks of the season in middle Georgia. In the mean time, if anyone has a line on a tree of neglected something or other please let me know!