I am not Amish.

But every once in a while I do enjoy channeling my inner Mennonite and trying something simple, or at the very least, completely back-to-basics and non-technological.

This month’s project was making homemade jam. Lured by the discount Plant City strawberries, I thought this was a perfect opportunity to engage in something hands-on and a bit primitive. What could be more authentic than a ritual like canning the harvest? What could be simpler than three ingredients? What could be more quaint and old-fashioned?

To begin my journey to a simpler time, I got into my SUV and headed to Target. I needed supplies like jars, lids and rings. And sugar. Oh, and a big non-reactive pot to cook my jam. And special jar-grabbing tongs and other things with a registered trademark. And four more pieces of equipment that I didn’t have as suggested by a website on preserving that accepted PayPal.

I hurried home. Among all of the various methods by which my parents tried to kill me as a child--no seat belt, defrosting meat on the counter, and cheesy 70’s variety shows--botulism from my mother’s attempts at home canning was not among them so I figured I could probably handle the safety aspect. I Googled “strawberry jam” and downloaded a pdf file with explicit instructions.

The first step was to sterilize the jars. This could be done with the special setting on my dishwasher. Next, I was to boil the fruit, sugar and water on the electric range and let the recipe I snagged from Emeril on the Food Network work its magic. Thinking I was being particularly Amish-y, I decided to double the recipe and feed the whole village with my jelly.

This did not work so well. Instead of a thick, delicious strawberry jam, I seemed to have produced my own suburban wine label--cheap, sickeningly sweet, slightly fermented fruit with subtle tones of Kool-Aid and the alcohol content of Listerine and vanilla extract. I immediately called my local ATF followed by the 1-800 number on the box of mason jars.

All was not lost, a helpful customer service representative said from her cubicle in a Long Island office park. She explained that all I had to do was add pectin, re-cook and voila! Old-fashioned strawberry preserves would at last be mine. Another trip to the store for pectin (they have a liquid form now so you don’t have to mess with the outdated powdered stuff), new lids and rings, additional sugar, and when the digital thermometer registered 218.5 degrees, a perfect marmalade would be staring at me from an Einstein Brother’s bagel.

Lo and behold, it worked and I now am the proud owner of a dozen quilted-glass stamped jelly jars of thick, twice-boiled fruit and sugar that may or may not kill me.

All tallied, I spent $78, 12 kilowatt hours, 7 gallons of gasoline, and about a thousand terabytes of bandwidth for my simple homemade jam.

Yep, just like the Amish used to make.

©2010 Tracey Henry