Jam

Blackberries are coming to the end of their season. I'm a little anxious. I love picking blackberries. I can't stop. There's always that out of reach branch. Ruben hasn't got my bug, but he tolerates me as long as he receives a constant supply. So every opportunity we're out on Hampstead Heath with pots and purple hands.
This year has a huge harvest. Blackberries must love washed-out summers. I've got this squirrel urge to make enough jam to last me till next season. I've been counting jars: 17. Lets imagine I've got 3-4 more days of picking = 5-7 jars. But then I'm sure to give that number away, so...that's a 1.4 jar average per month. Enough? not sure. Not that I'm obsessed or anything.
Making jam is so simple and satisfying. Equal measures of fruit to sugar (though I've experimented with less sugar that gives a lovely tart and runny jam) - let it boil for 5-10 minutes, spoon into cleaned jars. Finished. I am transported back to childhood visions, looking up to the stove with a huge jam-pan, the long stained wooden spoon, the thick smell, jars tinkling in the oven. Pretty witch like really.
We started off drawing labels but when I saw these stamps on flickr I new it would be perfect. I've never made a eraser stamp before but it's so easy. It took me longer to dig-out my lino-cutting tools, than digging out the image from rubber. More flickr searching found these wonderful stamps .

*Our first blackberry picking this summer. I stupidly used a plastic bag that got snagged on the brambles. I only noticed once on the bus going home, thick dark ominous drips of blackberry juice slowly, methodically dripping. I could feel eyes watching but they'd turn away as soon as I looked up. I wanted to say "ha, only blackberry juice...oops" in that gauche English way, but decided I couldn't be bothered and left them to their sinister imaginations. I should also mention that we were soaked from rain, my hair was wild having got caught in brambles, with a stained right hand mixed with real blood thorn scratches and an exhausted child with a red smeared mouth. Ha. Give them something to tell when they get home.

These photos are of my sister caught red-handed (literally) stealing jam from the cupboard. Lucky my mother's instinct was to grab the camera and not the child.