Patricia Harrelson

Last weekend, five-year-old Nell labeled 3 dozen jars of newly made fig jam. While that’s the remarkable fact, here’s the delicious fact.

I was the recipient of one of those jars, and I’ve been indulging every since: fig jam on biscuits; fig jam on peanut butter sandwiches; fig jam on pancakes. And I confess to a simply eating a few spoonfuls of fig jam right out of the jar.

Fig jam is my favorite and has been since back in 1974 in South Carolina when Mrs. Suggs, Grandma Harrelson’s neighbor, supplied our family with a year’s supply of fig jam. I think I was the only one to get addicted. The problem is fig jam is not something you can buy in the store, at least not a variety that calls to my taste buds. So I am happy indeed that there is now a fig tree and jam maker in the family. The supply of fig jam will no doubt be endless.