Passing It Forward

I remember the first time I canned anything in Alaska. As an "adult" without my mom.

It was cranberry katchup.

With my friend Jenn. She was so wise in her Alaskan ways -- she knew how to make this stuff, prep the jars, cook it up - and I don't think she even followed a recipe. She answered all of my silly questions, made sure I was following step by step, and sent me home with a jar of my own.

And I remember the first time I canned something scary - in a pressure cooker - when I was out in King Cove in Marty's kitchen processing smoked salmon. She was so wise in her Alaskan ways - she knew just what to do and reassured me that the cooker was not going to explode.

So now that I've called Alaska home for more than 10 it was recently time for me to be the experienced wise one showing the young-uns how to make some jam.

They brought their handpicked berries, random assortment of jars and rings and lids, their questions and recipe ideas - and we made some jam.




And though I don't see or talk to Marty much (King Cove is, after all, kind of far away) and Jenn and I keep in touch faithfully but sporadically, I sort of felt like they were there with me in Sarah's kitchen. Watching over my shoulder. Reminding me to wipe the rims clean before I put the lids on; reminding me to be patient with the newbies; reminding me how fun it is to hang out with my friends in the kitchen.