Can I can? I think I can, I think I can!

My husband's grandmother made a batch of fig preserves for us a few years ago. I can usually exercise self-control when it comes to sweets, but those fig preserves opened up a whole new world of delight to my taste buds. So when I found myself with a gallon of quickly-ripening figs from my mother's tree this year, I decided to try my hand at this decidedly pioneer art--making and canning preserves.

Now, I'm exhausted. But strangely proud, like a strong woman who has just birthed a plump infant... at home... in the bathtub.

I found my fig preserves recipe at Canning Across America. The simple ingredients list surprised me--figs and sugar. In my limited knowledge of all things preserves, I always thought something called pectin was involved. But after three hours of sitting, one hour of constant stirring, and one hour of frequent stirring, the sugary mixture finally reached the right temperature to thicken appropriately... I hoped. You really can't tell that sort of thing until it cools, but by the time it cools, it's too late to can.

So I went on a hope and a prayer. And a candy thermometer.

I pulled out my mother's borrowed pressure cooker, glanced at the manufacturer's instructions, and cowered at the blaring and ubiquitous warnings about botulism. Apparently, one must increase the pressure inside the pot to raise the temperature to at least 240 degrees so that no botulism bacterium survive. Too bad the  pressure cooker didn't have a thermometer on it!

Oh, also, when the instructions say, "Let it depressurize on its own," it means, "The steam will burn you! Leave it alone!" Back in the seventies, when this thing was new, people were more intuitive.

Well, yesterday, I didn't know how to make fig preserves. I didn't know how to use a pressure cooker. I didn't know how to kill botulism.

Today, I enjoyed a quart of warm fig preserves, thickened perfectly, from a sealed mason jar with my family. My stirring arm was too fatigued to spread it, but that's the cost counted by the pioneer woman.

I think I'll just sit here with my feet up and enjoy the view of my six quarts of fig preserves. Someone pass the toast.