Raspberry Jam

Remember this?
Well, today that turned into this...

On second thought, I guess I didn't post about our annual trip to New Mexico for raspberry picking. Oops.
My mom has been making jam for as long as I can remember, and we drive to New Mexico every year to pick as many berries as possible, partly because they are delicious and there is nothing better than the smell of a trunkful of raspberries for six hours from New Mexico back to Colorado, but mostly so that we can make jam for the year. This year my parents, sister and I made the trek and picked a record 52 pounds in three hours. I'm pretty sure it was a record for the raspberry ranch, too.

My sister hates most fruit, raspberries emphatically included, which incidentally makes her an awesome raspberry-picker. I eat about as much as I pick - inefficient, but can you blame me? We had many years of conflict, but this summer my sister and I finally overcame the sibling barrier and became friends. We spent the day laughing, listening to music, picking berries, and smearing "war paint" all over each other under the hot New Mexico sun. My sister loves to write, so I posed a challenge to her on the way home - spend an hour and write up a reflection on the day. We both wrote our reflections, then exchanged papers to see the other's take on the day. We write so differently, but we both agreed that it was a pretty awesome experience. Here's mine.

     Even before the alarm buzzes before the sun rises in the morning, my eyes are open and my hands are pulling a t-shirt over my head. We started this yearly journey to the raspberry fields in New Mexico when I was ten with my then-best friend and her mom, but the past four years I missed out on the trip. I was stuck in the mist and rain, surrounded by trees and college friends and a constant smell of chlorine from countless mornings spent in the pool. This year, though, college is merely a memory and I spent labor day at home. 

     Much of my life has passed in early morning wake-up calls, but none are so justified as this one. Ben, averse now to all outdoor activity, is the only one to sleep in. The rest of us pile into the car, lunches packed and eyes still misted with sleep, to begin the day-long raspberry mission. Ten a.m. sees us cresting the ridge overlooking the Salman Raspberry Ranch - a café, a ranch store, a field shack, and row upon row of raspberry bushes ripe for the picking. Kate and I set off down our row, directed by the field hand, as familiar to me as the ranch itself. His dusty clothes and cowboy hat have not changed since I saw him for the first time over ten years ago, and the little white dog that shadows him is much the same, perhaps a little less agile and a little rounder, but none the worse for wear. We breathe in the enticing raspberry scent mixed with apple from nearby trees and honey in boxed hives below them, and with dusty air laying in a haze over the surroundings. 

     We bend to our task, music wafting from the iPod stuffed into my back pocket. It is tempting to eat as many berries as I pick, but years of experience has taught me to savor the juiciest berries as we make our way to the end of the row, then content myself with the incredible smell of fresh-picked raspberries baking under the slicing New Mexico sun. Nothing compares to a day in the raspberry fields. Jewel-bright berries peek out from underneath sharp green leaves, revealing caches of fruit from small, hard, green seeds to shriveled purple berries that squish under my fingers from too much time on the vine. Daddy-long-legs and tiny black beetles share the fruit with me, as bees weave drunkenly over the leaves, intent on pollination. 

     As one song ends, I glance up at the unclouded blue sky, then over to my sister crouched low to gather the gems guarded by prickly branches and jealous bugs. Her gaze meets mine and I gesture her over, squashing an overripe raspberry between sticky fingers. Her unsuspecting gaze turns quickly to suspicion as I raise red-stained fingers and swipe them over her cheeks.

     “War paint,” I say. 

     Gone are the days when such a violation would have ended in anger and tears. She laughs and raises her own red weapons, giving me my own war paint and a raspberry warrior band around my biceps. 

     We return to our search for berries, the time passing quickly in mutual enjoyment of the task and each other’s company. We dump mounds of berries from small containers into larger ones, and I steal a few each time to enjoy. I swear I don’t eat many, but my stained lips tell the real story where my words do not. As pound after pound fills our waiting boxes, the few raspberries in my stomach make little difference. I have never seen the branches so laden with berries as they are this year. A handful, a pound, is barely five minutes‘ work. I would say it is like stealing candy from a baby, but it is much easier. The bushes offer their fruit, better than any sweets, with outstretched branches in colorful abundance. 

     Three hours‘ work on juice-stained knees leaves us without any extra containers - each is filled to overflowing, ready to be weighed and loaded into the trunk. The four of us pile the assortment of full containers on the shack counter, pushing each through the window to be placed on a scale. The woman behind the window, like the ranch hand, has been on the ranch as long as I can remember, eyes straining to see the wavering needle as each box weighs down the scale, meticulously documenting each delicious pound. 

     Fifty-two pounds.

     Fifty-two.

     The most ever.

     Berries in boxes cover the trunk like a blanket. The trunk slams closed with a satisfying thunk, guarding our precious haul. We grin for a picture, warriors after a successful raid, victorious and prepared for lunch, ice cream, and the journey home.      

Since I am sure I will make jam someday, and I hope I will take my kids raspberry-picking in New Mexico at least once, now is as good a time as any to post a recipe for raspberry jam. It was always a long, mysterious process to me as a child, but as I helped this time, I realized that making jam is a long, fairly simple process. I have always thought my mom's jam is the best, though admittedly sometimes she experiments with flavors when I just want simple raspberry or blackberry-raspberry jam. I'm not the only one who loves it - my teachers always waited with anticipation for holidays when I brought jam as gifts to my favorites. This was especially well-received when the twins were in my classes, because their mom makes hands-down the best bread, so a few lucky lucky teachers got bread and jam for Christmas. If you want to make your own jam, here's the recipe perfected over the years by my mom.

Ingredients:
5 cups fruit pureé
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 box (1.75 oz) pectin
6 1/2 cups sugar
butter
jam jars
jam lids (Bell)
jam bands

When making jam, lots of things are boiling at once - you will need a small saucepan to sterilize your lids, a dishwasher or hot water to heat up and sterilize your jam jars, a large saucepan to boil the jam, and a big stockpot with boiling water to seal your finished jam jars.

Make the jam:
Pureé your berries - a food mill is the easiest way to accomplish this with minimal stress. 8 or 9 cups of berries will make about 5 cups of pureé.

Sterilize lids (boil them) and leave them in hot water until you're ready to use them.

Start running jam jars through the hottest cycle on the dishwasher, and don't pull them out until you're ready to use them (still hot). You can also clean them and hold them in hot water until you're ready to dry them off and put jam in them. The important thing is that they are hot and clean.

In a clean large saucepan, mix pureé, lemon juice, pectin, and 1/4 teaspoon butter over medium-high heat. If you make more than one batch, clean the saucepan before each batch. Meanwhile, measure sugar into an extra bowl.  When berry mixture reaches a full rolling boil, stir for 1 full minute.  Add sugar all at once. Stir until the mixture boils again, about 5 minutes.  Boil for two minutes (wear a glove while mixing to avoid burns from the the boiling mixture).  Remove from heat. Pour into clean, hot jam jars within 1/8" of the top. Wipe clean the tops of the jars before adding lids and bands. Place closed jars into a  large stockpot full of boiling water for five minutes (add five minutes for every 1000 feet you live above sea level). Jar tongs are definitely worth it if you plan on making jam regularly. After removing the jars, listen for the pop of the seal that indicates that the jar has sealed. If it doesn't seal, you either have to eat the jam within a few days or repeat the lid process again with a new lid.
Label your jars with a sharpie once they are cool with the date and type of jam.

Some jam tips:
1. For pectin, the brand isn't important as long as it's the full sugar kind and is at least 1.75 ounces.
2. Use Ball lids, not Kerr. I know both are pictured, but the Ball lids seal better.
3. Only good berries will make good jam. The best (and cheapest) way is to pick your own, like we did in New Mexico. We spent three hours and picked 52 pounds of berries between the four of us. If you want to pick in New Mexico, go here and call ahead to see if the crop is good for the day/week you want to go. We usually go labor day weekend or the week after.
4. 1/4 teaspoon butter will keep the boiling jam from foaming.
5. Keep stirring - don't burn your jam!
6. It is much less stressful and messy if you convert all of your raspberries to pureé in one sitting then freeze the pureé in 5 cup bags until you're ready to make jam, either all at once or in increments as you need it. This also helps make the jam less foamy as it's cooking.
7. Don't forget to adjust for altitude if you're using a hot water bath (Add 5 minutes for every 1000 feet above sea level)
8. The water needs to always be above the tops of the jars, so remember to refill.