Another opportunity to pick and preserve fruit came up last week when I was in Hallettsville, staying at my grandmother's house. Behind her back yard, in an interim space where the barn is before you get to the pasture, there's a dead tree covered in white mustang grape vines. Thank goodness the variety is disease and drought resistant considering the Texas weather lately. The vines had completely covered the "host" tree, which had been struck by lightning. There was plenty of fruit though. My mother and brother, Stephen, had picked enough for one batch of jelly the weekend before. And there was still more to be had. My son and I picked enough grapes for four more batches, half for me and half for my parents. Being a typical entrepreneurial 13-year-old, my son got my father to pay him for the grapes we gave my parents. I, however, paid my son in jelly. It was hot, sweaty, itchy work that made us contort into awkward poses to get "just one more&qu
family + history + food = me