Muscadines

Growing up in northwest Louisiana, I have memories of the vacant lot next to my family’s house.  The remains of an old fence bordered our yard and the adjacent lot, and a thick muscadine vine, covered much of the fence.  I don’t recall the time of year the vine bore fruit, but I remember vividly my brother and I picking the thick-skinned berries for my mother, eating one for every five that we collected.

 

We didn’t worry about washing pesticides off the muscadines before we ate them because there were no pesticides at the time – at least none that we knew of.  As I recall, the purple skin was too sour to eat so you simply popped it open and ate the pulp inside, less the seeds of course.

 

A blackberry bush grew adjacent to the muscadine vine and we collected and sampled them when they were ripe.  My mother made jam and jelly with all the various berries my brother and I gathered - jam and jelly devoid of preservatives.  The vines and bushes provided a bit of shelter from hot Louisiana sun – shelter for critters such as grass snakes, stink bugs and stinging scorpions.  My brother and I collected them as well.

 

Today, there is a new fence between my parent’s house, and the newer house that occupies the once-vacant lot next door.  Gone are the muscadines and blackberries, replaced now by mown grass, brick and concrete - at least for the outward world to see.  The muscadines still grow on that vine, their thick purple skin still as sour as their insides sweet.  There they will remain till the last remnant of my vivid childhood memories waft away like wispy Louisiana clouds racing from the sun.

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Eric's Mayhaw Jelly

If you are lucky enough to find a mayhaw bush loaded with luscious red berries, pick a batch of the very nicest ones.  Take them home and wash them up.  About six cups of water are needed to cover two quarts of mayhaws.  Put them in a large pot, add the water, bring to a boil and cook for thirty minutes, or so.  Press the berries in a colander using a big wooden spoon, and then strain the juice through damp cheesecloth.  Now you are ready to make the jelly.

 

5 cups of the mayhaw juice you just extracted

7 cups sugar, preferably cane

1 box of pectin, powered

 

Mix the juice in a large saucepan with the pectin until it is completely dissolved then place on the fire.  When the juice reaches a rolling boil, add the sugar, return to a boil and continue boiling for five minutes.  Remove from heat and skim the foam with a metal spoon.  Skim again after placing juice in clean, sterilized jars.  Seal jars and place in boiling water for fifteen minutes.  When you finish, you will have eight or so jars of the best jelly you ever tasted.

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Wild Louisiana Mayhaws

Growing up in northwest Louisiana, I recall trekking to Jeems Bayou in search of wild mayhaws so my mother could make mayhaw jelly. Although I didn’t know it at the time, this is the fruit of a variety of Hawthorne bush that grows profusely throughout the south, especially in swampy environments. Jeems Bayou, near Caddo Lake is a perfect spot for the elusive mayhaw.

Mayhaw jelly is thought by many to be the finest jelly in the world. I can’t argue with that sentiment. If you can find a jar, buy it and try it. You won’t be disappointed.

Mayhaws grow ripe in May and June, a time of abundant vegetation and wildlife, including snakes, in the area around Jeems Bayou. Once, far from the car and deep in the heavily vegetated area where mayhaws abound, my mother crossed paths with a snake – probably a harmless grass snake. It didn’t matter. It may as well have been a boa constrictor. My mother screamed bloody murder and didn’t stop running until she reached our brown and tan 1950 Ford.

My brother and I found the scene pretty funny but we didn’t laugh when we learned that we had also missed out on mayhaw jelly for the rest of the summer.
Tomorrow – a recipe for mayhaw jelly
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