Strawberry Jam

Nothing else reminds people more of their grandparents, then slow homecooked meals. For me. it's not so much a whole meal, but the perfect balance of sweet and sour, hand-picked, homemade jam. When i was younger I used to count down the days until it was time to drive up to Whidbey Island to visit my grandparents. Each visit, season-permitting, my grandparents would take my sister and I to the local strawberry fields where we would pick baskets full of berries. I remember eating and wearing more berries then I actually picked. My hands and clothes were covered with a deep red strawberry juice, which stained quickly because of the warm summer sun. After picking all the berrieswe needed, we would head back to the beach-front log cabin to start making the jam. It was always my job to mash the berries. While i mashed, my grandma and sister would add the sugar and all the other ingredients needed to the saucepan. The entire house was filled with a warm strawberry pie scent. After my sister and I made a label for each jar, staing the type and date, my grandma would pour the hot strawberry sauce into each jar. Each jar was carefully sealed and taken to the garage freezer. My favorite part was being able to take a jar home with me after it was chilled. Although I haven't helped with the baking process for many years, my grandparents always remember to give me a homemade jar of jam when I have to leave.