JAMMED!

Yesterday I bought a couple of jars of cherry jam and also because ‘tis the season, some black sweet cherries. “If I pit a few of these beauties, I’ll bet I could make my own cherry jam,” I said to no one listening.  Because you see, I have a cherry pitter, well two to be precise; there is a pitter and Ted to operate the pitter. I suppose pitter operators are called pitters, don’t you think?

I only needed 4 cups of cherry pulp to make the jam. A piece of cake, right? So Ted pitted the cherries, 4 cups full. I had my first doubts, while watching the operation and mopping up bright red cherry juice from the cupboard, Ted, and the floor.  Some cherries appeared to have a dangling pit.  After he had escaped the messy premises, commenting that “a guy could get lost in this kitchen,” I found a knitting needle and ran it through the holes in the cherries. I located 13 pits in various stages of removal. I imagined broken teeth and choking death, at least!  “Can I stop now after all this work and mess?” I asked myself, no one else being the slightest bit interested.  

Chopped up, I had only 2 cups of red mush. In the freezer, I found frozen white sweet cherries from our own trees. We must have picked them before I had even one pitter, so they went down the disposal, sharpening the blades as they went.  There is another story about picking those cherries that includes a backhoe and me sitting in the bucket while Ted lifted me up. He and a passing neighbor discussed whether or not it would be murder if one “accidentally” dropped ones wife from a backhoe bucket, but I digress.

My freezer yielded 2 cups of red sour cherries, professionally pitted, and the jam is cooked and cooling. I won the bet; I could make beautiful black and red jam myself…well not without the help of Ted and the other pitter, a food processor, a knitting needle, freezer, pots and pans and various other kitchen aids that I intend to clean up if I can face the kitchen after my nap.