I’ve heard some folks refer to cattle as hamburger on the hoof. With this reference in mind, the past few weeks have had me salivating as I think of all the luscious jellies out there still on the bush. Yes, each of those fragrant bee-attracting blooms is a bit of jelly still on the plant, and I can’t wait to harvest the fruits and heat up the kitchen.

In the past few weeks, this year’s currant bushes sported lovely, fragrant yellow blooms that promise tasty currant jellies, while hundreds of chokecherry bushes blossomed out hinting of savory, rose-red bliss. Unfortunately, the sand hill plums flowered early enough that a frost damaged many of their blooms. Despite the damage, I hope to harvest some fruits for the jelly pot.

I’ve kept an eye on the wild grape vines nearby, but I can’t tell whether to develop a hankering for wild grape jelly or not. Grapes are difficult to predict because the plant can set little clusters, but dry conditions can shrivel them before they become raisins or you have to beat wild creatures to them. Birds love the little purple fruits, so it’s a contest to see whether I can pluck these from the vine before my feathered neighbors eat them first.

I did have currants last year, but I also had free range chickens that quickly dashed any hopes of beating them to the harvest. I’d eyeball the deepening color of the round fruits each day, and by the time they reached picking perfection, my 30 some walking egg factories had gobbled them. I felt lucky to find a handful to toss in my salads by the time the chickens finished their feasts. This year I am down to three chickens, so perhaps I’ll get a bowl full of currants for jelly making.

Because a combination of early blooms, and late frosts, and droughts have wiped out all hopes of summer jelly making in recent summers, I’m watched this year’s plants with an eagle eye. Barring insect or hail damage, I’m hoping this year’s jelly making prospects look good.

Currently, no pun intended, scores of empty jelly jars occupy my pantry. Each container is a silent testament to my failure to harvest a single chokecherry or sand hill plum in recent years. If there were wild grapes, I didn’t find enough to amount to a pot of simmering purple brew.

My goal this summer is to harvest bowls of currants, buckets of chokecherries and hopefully grapes, with a pan of sand hill plums added as each fruit ripens at the right time. I intend to create a little magic with some simple ingredients such as Sure Gel and sugar added to my boiling fruit juices. At exactly the right time, I ‘ll pour the resulting ambrosia into empty fruit vessels, seal them, and let them jell. Then I ‘ll stack the results in front of my kitchen window to let the sun shine through until it looks like a cathedral window instead of my normal glass.

After enjoying the visual effects, I’ll share the goodies with family and friends all through the winter to savor summer’s flavors on our toast and biscuits.

Native Kansan Karen Madorin is a local writer and retired teacher who loves sharing stories about places, people, critters, plants, food, and history of the High Plains.