Remiss

Sorry I haven't posted for a while - have been traveling to Kentucky and Missouri. We took some new barn/quilt photos.

Strawberry Preserves

Here is a Strawberry Preserve recipe that I got from an old book "The Anderson House Cookbook," by Jeanne and John Hall.

2 pints Strawberries, destemmed and washed
7 cups sugar (3 pounds)
1/4 c lemon juice (optional (I didn't have any)
1 box of sure-jell (another box or a large box if you prefer a more solid preserve)

Measure 5 cups whole ripe berries (a packed measurement, but without crushing)(In the second batch, I sliced my strawberries smaller instead of leaving them whole as they were very large, again its your choice). Layer in broad heavy pan with sugar; let stand 10 minutes. Bring slowly to a boil, stirring gentle to keep fruit whole. Remove from heat. Cool at room temperature 4 hours. Add lemon juice. Bring mixture to full rolling boil over high heat; boil hard 2 minutes , stirring gently. Remove from heat; at once, stir in Sure Jell. Skim off foam with metal spoon, and stir for 10 minutes to prevent floating fruit. Ladle into sterilized jars. Seal and cover at once with hot parafin. Makes 7 cups.

Asking For Roses

A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,
With doors that none but the wind ever closes,
Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster;
It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses.

I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary;
'I wonder,' I say, 'who the owner of those is.'
'Oh, no one you know,' she answers me airy,

'But one we must ask if we want any roses.
' So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly
There in the hush of the wood that reposes,
And turn and go up to the open door boldly,

And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses.
'Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?'
'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses.
'Pray, are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you!

'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses.
'A word with you, that of the singer recalling— Old Herrick:
a saying that every maid knows is
A flower unplucked is but left to the falling, And nothing is gained by not gathering roses.

' We do not loosen our hands' intertwining
(Not caring so very much what she supposes),
There when she comes on us mistily shining
And grants us by silence the boon of her roses

Robert Frost