Have you ever eaten a fresh cranberry? Let me tell you, you haven’t missed out on anything. There’s nothing to recommend it. You wouldn’t want to grab a handful to nibble while watching a movie. They’re not a tasty treat.

But add a little sugar, some chopped orange and walnuts, raisins, and port, cook it for awhile and magic happens. Put it in jars and you’ve got deliciousness to last all year. Today I canned 24 four ounce jars of Cranberry Port Conserve. I can’t say it’s my best effort, but it’s pretty good.

Making jams or conserves is a meditation for me. I breathe and pay attention to details, one step at a time, everything in its own time. No hurry, no wishing it might be different. It just is.

Most often jam is made from sweet fruit; it’s not a stretch to make it edible. A cranberry requires something more, a willingness to see what it might become with a little imagination.

Cranberry Port Conserve

4 cups fresh or frozen cranberries

2 cups granulated sugar

¾ cup port

½ cup finely chopped, peeled orange

1/3 cup raisins

¼ cup chopped walnuts

Combine cranberries, sugar, and port – bring to a full boil over high heat and cook, uncovered, until berries pop.

Add orange and raisins. Return to a boil, reduce heat and boil gently, uncovered, until mixture forms a light gel, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and stir in nuts.

Process in a hot water bath for 5 minutes.

Recipe from The Complete Book of Year-Round Small-Batch Preserving by Ellie Topp and Margaret Howard.

Every year, when the dandelions go to seed, I can’t help but want to make wishes on each one that floats by. When I was a kid we called them fairies, chasing and then catching them with both hands so they couldn’t escape before we’d whispered our wishes to them.

I still make wishes on dandelions and stars and birthday candles. I also know that wishes don’t always come true, and when they do, they often look differently than we’d imagined. And sometimes the wish itself needs a little adjusting – kind of like the dandelion seed in the picture. It’s a little ragged.

That doesn’t mean we should stop making wishes, or be afraid of what we wish for. We need our wishes. They help us live well.

So go ahead … close your eyes, make a wish, hold it gently, let it go.

Sometimes there are no words, only our own quiet breath.

Not So Perfect

Almost forty years ago I made this little cup. It’s been packed up and moved with me at least a dozen times, and never, not once, have I thought about throwing it out. It was the first thing I ever made.

It’s supposed to be a Japanese tea cup, a beautiful thing for a graceful ceremony. I was nine; grace and beauty weren’t within my reach then – and often aren’t now – but I tried anyway.

The cup is too shallow, the rim too wide, the glaze drips down the side without pattern, my little fingertips left indents where there should have been a smooth surface. I compared my cup to those made by my classmates and came up short; I may have cried.

It now sits on the china hutch where everyone can see it. I keep it because it reminds me that something doesn’t have to be perfect to be precious. It’s a good lesson about the other parts of life too.

In the last few years I’ve ventured into making things again. Sometimes they’re beautiful and sometimes they’re kind of pathetic. There probably isn’t an artistic masterpiece in my future and it doesn’t matter a bit. What I love is dropping into a meditative state when I’m mid-project, the sense of curiosity about where I’m being led, the satisfaction of having done my best.

If, in the end, I’ve made a thing of beauty, that’s an extra gift.

Opening The Front Door

Welcome to Wild Plum Cottage. We’re pretty informal here, so get comfy, put your feet up; maybe you’d like cup of tea while I tell you about what you'll find here.

The Cottage itself isn’t really a cottage; to be honest it’s a rather modern house in a subdivision that sits at the edge of town, and though there isn’t a wild plum tree in sight, there are four ornamental plum trees in our front yard. A couple years ago one tree began producing a mind-boggling amount of small, juicy plums – perfect for making jam. An obsession was born. I make a lot of jam. Some attempts have been spectacular, others not so great.

Either way, it’s the process I love - the quiet attention to detail, the way I can’t get ahead of myself or be too distracted by any other part of life, the sweet smell of fruit and sugar boiling, the jewel-toned jars cooling on the table. You'll find recipes here too, especially when I discover one too delicious to keep to myself.

I like making things and it doesn't stop in the kitchen. There’s a room at the top of the stairs that’s officially known as the Guest Room. Unofficially, and more accurately, it’s known as the Room That’s Always a Mess because at least one project is laid out on the bed and another stacked up on the desk at all times. You’ll hear more about my creative binges later.

I’m of the firm belief that creativity can heal just about any grief. At its best it helps us find happiness. The worst it can do is clutter the house. But then, house cleaning gives my mind time to ponder other things, like writing and re-arranging the furniture. It's all creative if I let it be.

Life is full of small moments and quiet gestures, brimming with magic and wonder - if we slow down long enough to see and feel and hear its song.

Wild Plum Cottage is my home away from home, a place to let those things I love shine, whether in the kitchen, in that room at the top of the stairs, or in the garden. It might be something I see during my commute or on a Sunday morning drive into the countryside with my husband. If it makes me happy, catches my eye, or otherwise piques my interest, you'll see or read about it here.