The beauty of spring––we don”t expect it.
Every year we are amazed anew at the wonder.
c. e. hollis
Crabapple blooms remind me of the jelly Mama used to make of those small fruits, with no beauty like other apples, they we re the rejects, the outcasts, and yet they make wonderful tart and tangy sweet jelly––a pink transparent jelly that even if it had tasted bland would be joy just sitting it its glass jar on a shelf, a joy to spoon into a pretty dish and set on the Sunday table, and a joy to spread on a biscuit or slice of toast.
Mama loved the crabapple trees for their glorious blossoms in the spring, she loved them for the generosity of fruit they set and for the early harvest. When last year’s plum and blueberry jellies and strawberry and cherry jams were gone from the pantry shelves, she could boil up a batch of crabapple jelly and restock.
Against the blue sky on a warm sunny spring day the blooms burst out and host honey bees in their rose like blooms.
Ahhhh, the crabapple, how obviously misnamed. How sadly unknown and unloved. One grows in my yard and I am happy for it. Early in the fall I will cook apples, scrawny and mishapen green apples and make some fine jelly.
Come by on Sunday and I will share.