Jam

Observed on my walk to work that the elderberries are ripe. Guess it's about time to make some jam.

I suppose I should also try making some loquat jam, picking the plums from a friend's tree and making chutney, and maybe collecting some of the local dates and making something from them as well.

It's also not too long until blackberry season. Yay! ^_^

What happened?

First thing is first. Please note that this post is from a white americentric point of view and might make some bad assumptions for other groups.


cargoweasel linked to a clip from a 70's film "Free to Be You and Me" in his journal. I'd seen it before, of course. I lived on this stuff when I was a child. In fact, to be perfectly honest, I still like it now.

Sorta started me thinking though... What happened to us? Prior to the late 80s, you look at almost any other time in american history and it seems like there was a kind of optimism there that went missing. Even during the depression era of the 30s, there was an undercurrent of optimism. Science fiction was blooming. Faster and faster cars and planes were evolving. Stuff was happening.

During WWII, there was a 'can do' spirit thing going on. Perhaps some of that optimism was propaganda, but it was still there. Even in the 50s when we suddenly had the threat of nuclear power, there was still this belief that we could do anything, that we were going to go up and up and up and reach out and touch the stars.

The sixties brought us love and peace and all that jazz and that persisted into the 70s. All this awesome stuff was happening with integration and equality. We'd landed men on the moon and the next stop was Mars.

And then.... What happened? The 80s started off pretty well, I mean. Lots of campy movies. Goonies, Indiana Jones, sequels to Star Wars, ET, and all that sort of stuff, but something somewhere was going rotten. Things were becoming darker and more cynical. A lot of music took on my violent and hateful sounds. Television, movies, and humor as a whole turned more and more cynical and jaded. It became routine to tear down idols.

Hunter S. Thompson saw it coming. As he put it:

“ Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era — the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .

History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time — and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.

My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights — or very early mornings — when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . .

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .

So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.

So what happened? Televangelists? Reagan? Gas crisis? Recession? Challenger? AIDs? The rise of obesity?

Maybe it's all just backlash. A bunch of ignorant conservatives who couldn't handle the idea of treating blacks, women, gays, and the environment with respect. The petulant wrath of millions of poor little suburbanite white boys who suddenly had to face the realization that they weren't God's gift to the universe.

Or, worst of all... What if it's just me? What if most people in the US still have that cheerful optimism and are happily oblivious to all the dark words I've heard? Or what if this is the way most adults view the world and always have and I was only naive to it because I viewed the world through the eyes of a child?

But... I don't think so. I see other things around the edges, like the tide is beginning to turn. I think perhaps the collective unconscious is sick of hate and cynicism and we're all now surging back towards the beach.

A few foods

So.. I now have three half-pint jars of elderberry jam cooling in my fridge. Hopefully it will set correctly. Elderberries seem to be low in pectin. But if not... Lesson learned, I guess. I'll add more pectin next time and in the meanwhile, elderberry syrup. Mmmm.

I did a lot of snacking while I was picking elderberries, of course. I was in one of my weird browsing modes. Decided just for fun to take a few photos. So.. Here's what the local variety of elderberries look like.




( Behind the cut are several more local wild edible plants )