The Ettrick Jam

I make gooseberry jam every year, even though I can’t eat it (allergies). The bush is overgrown and prickly, and we have to top and tail every berry. But then – then I get to make The Ettrick Jam.

The recipe comes from Canadian Country Preserves and Wines, by Blanche Pownall Garrett, published in 1974. It’s a collection of old recipes. She writes, “At a craft fair several years ago, one of the exhibitors gave me this recipe from one of her cookbooks, dated 1847.”

For those who know gooseberries, this is for green ones. There’s also a jelly recipe for ripe gooseberries (dull-red), but it’s The Ettrick Jam I adore.

The result is dark and rich and very adult. I love it on crackers, except I shouldn’t really have any.

It’s good with meat, too, as a relish, but mostly ­– I like it on crackers, because then I can savour the depth of flavours.

And I ponder, why is it called The Ettrick Jam? What or who or where is Ettrick? And why The?

That’s the most important question.

Maureen

Blooms In The Garden

The garden is thriving, in that early summer explosion of flowers. The peonies, in particular, are huge and outrageous. They are the opera singers of the garden. The scent of mock orange drifts on the wind, reminding me of my childhood. Roses are opening, old favorites in apricot cream and pale pink, and a new deep red. By the gate there’s a perfect little scene of pink roses, green clematis tendrils and chartreuse blooms of ladies mantle. While the garden is beautiful as a whole, it’s often these moments that thrill me the most, a small scene of perfectly balanced colour that makes my heart sing.

Maureen

Inspiring Kids To Write

When I’m asked to visit a school for a writing workshop, I’ll ask the teachers what they’d like to gain from my visit, and consistently I’m told, “It’s hard to inspire my kids to write.” We’ll plan a workshop to engage the kids, excite them about writing, and then get them going on their own projects.

Invariably, they’re inspired, and write fascinating stories. They never fail to impress me with their wild imaginations and how they can bring really freaky things to life.

So why do teachers find it hard to inspire their kids to write? What do I do differently? I’m not trained as a teacher, and I don’t spend time in the classroom watching teachers. I do remember my own childhood, and watched my kids in school. So here’s my guess, as a writer.

Kids are encouraged to play in nursery school and kindergarten, with sand or water tables and dress up clothes. When they get to grade one they’re told this is not a place to play. School is for work; you play at home. Except creativity is a form of play. So are we telling kids don’t be creative at school?

We tell them to sit down and sit still and be quiet and concentrate and do these math sheets and don’t daydream or look out the window and pay attention!, and they get a little break when they have art or music, if they have art or music, but then they’re back, for a novel study or a grammar lesson or a spelling test.

Kids spend much of their school day doing analytical work. We train them to be very good at being analytical, but we forget to practice creativity, to develop that part of the brain, to know what it is to be inspired.

When I make up a story with the kids, I always pick an absolutely absurd beginning, to give them permission to go wild. Then we dive in and laugh and freak each other out and create something absurd, and they love it. Once their creative juices are flowing, I’ll set them to work on their own projects, like creating a monster. They come up with incredibly inventive creatures, each unique, sometimes scary, always surprising.

But we’re noisy and sometimes inappropriate and really silly and overexcited and all those things many teachers (or their principals) try to avoid. Creativity is that way ­–  silly, noisy, messy and absurd. It’s play and it’s fun, and if we want our kids to be creative, we have to let them be creative.

It’s hard to inspire your kids to write? Make up a crazy story together. Create monsters, and see what happens when you tell them to use all the senses in describing them (just think about that for a moment). Give them permission to play, to go wild, to be absurd. Make it joyful. And don’t ruin it, after, by scrawling across their stories with a red pen, and grading their hearts.

Maureen