My family has always made freezer jam. I can remember my mom leaving early on a bright, June morning for the strawberry patch, clad in plaid shorts and a white tank top, with a worn visor perched on her head to keep out the sun. She would leave with the car loaded up with cardboard green containers and her pockets filled with cash and would come back with quarts upon quarts of fresh, red berries. The trunk floor would be blanketed with boxes filled to the brim.
