Grandmother W loved mothballs. She even loaded her cedar chest up with them. For decades. Eventually the cedar chest ended up with us. It was exiled to the attic for years, with the lid open through heat of summer and cold of winter. It was refinished, and sanded inside as well as outside. It was sprayed with products claiming to remove odors. The mothball outgassing has never diminished, decades after the last mothball was dropped in. So every fall the woolens get spread out on the deck rail to air out before wearing. And we remember Grandmother W.
Yesterday was also the day for round one of fig preserve making. Despite the drought we had a reasonable crop of figs this year. They all come ripe at the same time, and you don't want to eat that many fresh figs at a time--they have side effects. This year we got smart and prepped and froze the fruit until a more convenient time (like when it was less than 104F out) to make the preserves and do the canning. Batch one is complete--used this recipe. Have another load of frozen figs, but we seem to be out of half pint jars, had to press a couple of full pints into service... Guess they are all full of wild blackberry pancake topping that we thought was going to be jam. Fire up the griddle.
