Jammin’

The historical and cultural uses of wild plants are fascinating. Growing up near the Redwood River in Minnesota, I found it peculiar that I had never seen any of the fabled giant redwood trees. During gradeschool, I learned that ‘redwood’ referred to red bark from some variety of tree or shrub, which Native Americans collected and blended with tobacco. I’ve also learned that just about every wild plant was used as a  tea, poultice, medicine, or  food source. Some wild edibles are down right delicious, while others I’ve sampled out of curiosity or frugality. Today, I whipped up a pesto sauce with lamb’s quarters (a common weed), cilantro, roasted garlic, onion, vegetable oil, lime juice, and a few other seasonings. To that I added some curly-looking pasta, crab meat, and a blend of Italian cheese. For an off-the-cuff recipe it tasted amazing and I’ll probably try to reproduce it.

In the rugged sand prairies of Kansas, the sandhill plums (Prunus angustifolia) are ripening and visions of plum jelly have been dancing in my head. But I’m not too fond of wild plum thickets, since they’re a pain to walk through and often thick with poison ivy.  Most of the plums taste sour and the ripe ones are usually inhabited by little white grubs; give the plums a squeeze and a brown puss shoots out. Gross! Now that I don’t have much time to prepare meals, I’ve quickly diminished my supply of homemade jams and jellies. I finished a jar of local sandhill plum jelly from a friend and then the strawberry rhubarb jam from my sister.  At the local farmers markets you might find sandhill plum jelly, but it’s probably going to be an overpriced little jar that won’t last too long. So, the sandhill plums have peeked my curiosity and tastebuds. Afterall, I have plenty of time and plums around me.

On Sunday, I picked a bag full of wild plums and skunkbrush sumac (Rhus aromatica). I recalled that the sumac could be used to make a drink like lemonade and was curious to try it since the well water tastes awful. At times the water is so bad that it ruins my morning coffee and so I’ve had to buy drinking water. At least it’s not as bad as the water at Quivira; the water was yellow and smelled of sulphur. That was the one time I felt dirtier after taking a shower. The sumac berries, which do not smell like skunk,  were mashed and seeped in a container of water to make a tea. With a little bit of sugar it did taste like pink lemonade. In the evening I pitted the plums while watching a kung fu movie and then put them away for the next day.

I procured the necessary  jelly-making ingredients (pectin and sugar), an assortment of jars, and a canning pot. In comparison to picking and pitting the plums, the jelly-making process was a breeze. After cooking down the plums I strained 4 cups of juice through a cheesecloth; a little less than expected. Yet the jelly turned out a beautiful ruby-red color and had plenty of tartness despite the mountain of sugar the recipe called for.

I was left with a pile of sandhill plum mash, which I assume would be regarded as hog slop by most people. However, I had a bold and bright idea. I poured the remaining skunkbrush sumac juice into the mash and blended it into a fined puree; it looked something like pasta sauce or baby food. I had 6 cups of mash and nothing too loose if this strange kitchen experiment didn’t turn into something edible. After the sugar was added the orange-brown color turned red and looked appetizing. The skunkbrush-plum jam filled more jars than the sandhill plum jelly and also aced the taste test. As I’m sure no one has ever combined these flavors, I can tell you that it resembles a blend of strawberry and sour cherry. I even prefer it over the more refined sandhill plum jelly.