Jam was summertime, no matter the season we ate it; it was the sweetness of sunny times, the buoyant song of playful birds.
The gooseberry jam was the most cheeky of greens, as if it knew folks thought of jam in the hues of flamed reds. We'd spread it on our toast at Halloween and add edible eyes for garnish. Every year it was the same script from Dad, "Here's looking at you kid!"
The jam was the taste of the summer season that carried us through those winter months. It was the bold sweetness of the blackberry with the upbeat notes of raspberry too. I guess it was my favourite way to start the day, spread on wholewheat toast. It was hearty yet a little indulgent, sensible yet childish. It was the time-machine for my tastebuds, an enabler of warm and sunny daydreaming.
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