Rain and Strawberry Jam

The day was grey and cold and it rained and rained and rained, not hastily, not blusterously, but languidly and steadily the thunder rolled and the water come down, as if they had all day (they did). Unhurried Friday rain. Lastdayoftheworkweek rain.

"Il pleut," she murmured sleepily, cocooned in the mellow tenderness of Kings of Convenience. "Il pleut sur la ville," she said, for Artur Rimbaud not Émilie Simon,"il pleut doucement sur la ville."

It was the right weather for jam-making, and from the kitchen drifted the heady sweetness of ripe strawberries simmering, sweet like the fresh cottoncandy breath of hot summer days, sweet like the syrup of soaked sunshine and green fields forever. This voluptuous dark red happiness we bottled in old jars, for ourselves and for sharing with friends, luscious berry goodness to be taken out and spooned onto hot buttered toast for many not nearly enough rainy days to come.

When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name

Although we had no claim, you held out your hand of mercy to us, that we might be saved from the pain and death that we deserve for all our work on earth to delight in you and your creation forever.

How Strawberry Jam Is Made

1. Wander into a strawberry farm.
2. Employ free child labour.
3. Liberate sugar from the hotel breakfast table.
4. Store strawberries in an empty mineral water bottle and cover with a thick layer of sugar.
5. Allow strawberries to macerate in their own juicy sweetness for the entire daredevil ride home.
6. Add more sugar and a squeeze of lemon and simmer in a pot.
7. Voilà! Un pot de confiture de fraises!
8. Crowd around the pot to wipe up last dredges of jam with pieces of bread.