Tag: plum

The Joys & Jams of Plum Picking

Feeling Plum?

“Go on! Ask me How I am feeling.”

Eye roll.

“Just ask.”

“Fine! How are you feeling?”

“Plum!”

Then I laughed, and the children exchanged concerned glances at each other. Completely lost on them, of course. So, I set about explaining Plum minutiae to a mildly uninterested audience.

I have been thinking of P G Wodehouse during plummy times. (P G Wodehouse was called Plum by his close friends and family)

I have been thinking of little passages from Miss Read’s books as she wrote about making jams and chutneys for bazaars from the excessive plums and marrows during summertime.

How lucky country children are in these natural delights that lie ready to their hand! Every season and every plant offers changing joys. As they meander along the lane that leads to our school all kinds of natural toys present themselves for their diversion.

– Miss Read

I told the children about eating so many berries as children in the countryside in the Nilgiris, it made us slightly sick.  But, I also told them about how it was the most fulfilling thing in the world, and they rolled their eyes again.

An Excess of Plums

You see? We are having an excess of plums.

Some days I would gaze up at the branches – grateful for the bounty. Other days, I would step into a mushy one that plopped into my path and spattered and mutter to myself. Plum season is upon us, and nobody is spared. Neighbors, gardeners, cleaners, household helpers, friends, family. Everybody is gifted with plums. 

I stood one evening determined to make the best of the plum bounty, and set about making batches of plum pickle, plum jam, plum chutney, and plum juice. I also might’ve eaten a few plums. It was beautiful. The evening light was streaming in through the kitchen bay windows bathing all the world in a luminous glow. The plums were freely squirting their juices into the stovetops, the floors, the kitchen counters, my clothes, and the children stood around helplessly in the melee. 

“Amma – you’re going cuckoo! Can’t you just leave the plums?!”

I gasped for dramatic measure and said that prudent folks saved the excess. 

“Another 10 have fallen from the tree since you came in ½ an hour ago. Let it go!” said the daughter. Seeing that lunatic obstinate look on my face, she decided that the best thing to do was to leave me alone and took mocking videos of me instead.

I sorely regretted this plummy splash of enthusiasm a few hours later. I had sticky juice everywhere, a jar of jam, a jar of pickle and two bottles of sour juice. But I also had the back-breaking task of cleaning up the kitchen. The mops ran red, the washcloths turned pink, the tissues soaked and cleaned like they had never done before, and yet the kitchen was nowhere close to done.

I tell you. 

Black & Blue & Plum

The next day, I plucked and picked more plums and gave them to my friends. “Err…it’s okay! I have some!” they said.

“Oh! Sure – that’s nice. Don’t worry – I’ll walk over and give them to you.” I said smartly, putting the phone down before they could say no, and walked over.

“Would you like some blackberries?” said one of them, and I beamed at her. 

“Oooh! That’d be a nice change of pace from plums!” I said, and set about picking the blackberries and popping them in the mouth. The friend peeked into the bag and said, “Plums might make a change from blackberries!”

We looked at each other – lips stained with blackberry and plum juice and started laughing so hard, it was hard to stop. 

I’d call that a fruitful week-end, wouldn’t you?

The Exciting Night Life of Plum & Polly

“What do you do in the evenings?”, asked a young colleague after telling me about the exciting things that city life has to offer. Maybe my twenty year old could have stood the revels. Hectic – yes, that is the word I am looking for.  I myself prefer the quiet lifestyle. I suppose everybody wonders from time to time what everybody else does. I told him I take a walk around the neighborhood in the evenings.  He gave me a withered look. I must have sounded like a septuagenarian to his young mind.

“Err … any night life where you live? “, he quizzed, clearly not willing to give up on me just yet.

I felt it best to keep away from the domestic angle of things and spared him the details of my many culinary adventures to feed the family, and instead went for the wild flora-and-fauna angle. You know, give him the exciting side of things and so on. I told him that I recently found that a rather fat mouse comes along to the garden every night and scratches around near the fence for some food. Whether he finds it, I don’t know, but he makes enough of a noise to attract the fat black cat, and I sometimes fear for his safety, but as he(the mouse) himself seems happy enough, I cannot do much. He looked astounded. Impressed at having impressed the fellow, I plunged on. I told him that the birds coming home to their nests is a welcome sight at dusk. He thought I was cuckoo.

Night Life

So walk huh? he said circling back to what he thought was safe ground again.

The delights of an evening walk, are free, and one either likes it or has not tried it often enough to enjoy it. The seasonal delights are there for the taking, and the mind is happy enough to disassociate itself from the cares and wont’s of the corporate world for that period.

As I take a walk down in the summer evenings, I am always amazed at the flower laden trees and plants. The Oleander trees are heavy with summer flowers of various colors, the rose bushes are thriving scenting the air, the rhododendron and bougainvillea overflow, even late daffodils peek out here and there. I just learnt the name of another flowering tree:  Crepe Myrtle.  That sounds like the name that can spark a thousand songs.

A peek of yellow hibiscus flowers is a welcome sight. I have seen red ones, they are common enough, but white and yellow ones are another treat altogether. It took me back to the days when we plucked hibiscus leaves, soaked them in hot water and then made a fine paste to use as a hair conditioner. To date, no commercial conditioner comes close. Yet, I feel I cannot walk to Mr. Chin Cho’s lawn and ask him to pluck some hibiscus leaves from his tree to condition my hair. It just wouldn’t do. Plus Mr Chin Cho doesn’t look like the kind of man who cares about the texture of my hair.

I learnt recently that I had spent vast amounts of time near Aloe, and knew nothing of it. I could have just cut a stalk and rubbed my face, instead of taking the car and dashing off to Traders Joe to buy their cream with nourishing aloe vera. (The gardener was instructed to remove the plant about a year ago. In my defense, ‘Instructed’ is strictly not the right term to use here. I asked him what plant it was in Spanish, and he looked sad, and waved his hand about quite a bit. The next thing I knew the plant was gone. )

Summer also means fruits. Apricots, peaches, and plums jostle on the fruit trees, and the squirrel, Polly, is very busy.

I thought about how much the little things in life matter.  A friend of mine shared her plum produce with me, generously giving me more than I could competently handle on my own. In her home, we tasted plum chutneys and plum jams, and I came home inspired.  Last night, I was the paragon of domestic efficiency and made plum pickle. The thing is looking very proud and beetroot-pink in the refrigerator.

Maybe I shall tell the young fellow about the exciting night life in my kitchen and seal my reputation.