After the last fig jam jar was sealed I raised my gooey jam filled spoon and shouted out, "This is for you Mr. Porte!"
You see Mr. Porte was my next door neighbor, the incredible gardener, generous smile, nearly ninety year old… He taught me how to grow a garden.
One day, late afternoon he came to my house, like he had done so many times before. I greeted him with the familiar French greeting of two kisses, opening the front door wide I asked him to come on in. As if shy he took two steps back, looking over his shoulder towards his home, "I cannot," he said.
"Of course you can!" I teased, pulling at his shirt sleeve, "What do you have something urgent to do?" He cast his eyes down, shook his head, then again stepped back. I swallowed my smile, leaned forward worried, afraid to ask why but I did anyway, "What's wrong?"
Mr. Porte blushed when he told me that his wife was jealous of me.
"Me?! What! No? Why?" I searched through the moments we had been together, was it because he helped me in the garden?
He shook his head no, then shrugged, then looked right at me with his sincere blue eyes, "She thinks we are having an affair." As he said it in French and as I did not grasp what he meant, by the French word liaison or maybe because I didn't believe my ears, I said "What?" He leaned his head towards me without moving his feet, in a near whisper translated, "My wife thinks we are lovers, and forbids me to see you alone after this conversation."
"Me? Us? Never again…" I glanced over to my neighbor's house, dumbfounded, realizing this wasn't a joke, that his wife took his strong dirty hands to mean something utterly different than working in the garden.
We stood by the garden gate… and smiled a smile that speaks volumes when only silence is needed. He said, "I know it is silly, I am sorry if I have embarrassed you, I am embarrassed," then he shook his head, and under his breath I heard him say, "As if you would have an affair with me! Aurevoir Corey." He turned to walk away.
He was hurt. Our gardening friendship was over.
I spoke up, he turned around, "Mr. Porte, if you were a little younger and if I were a little older… perhaps…" But before I could finish my sentence we started to giggle, and with that the energy changed. We knew we cared for each other and would remain friends at a distance.
Mr. Porte waved his hand at me, as he slowly walked across the street to his house.
I stopped gardening.
Though I still go over to their home to pick cherries and figs.
Mr. Porte loves home made jam.
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Fig Jam
2 pounds of very ripe figs cut in fourths,
1 1/2 pounds of sugar,
Put the figs in a large heavy pan, add the sugar on top of them,
Cover the pan and let it alone for 24 hours.
Most of the sugar will have melted, turn the heat on very low,
Bring the fig-sugar mixture to a boil, stirring often, turn the heat lower,
When the fig-sugar mixture ripples off the spoon the jam is done,
Grill two handfuls of sliced almonds,
Then add the grilled sliced almonds to the jam, stir until well mixed.
Add the boiling mixture to sterile jars and can.
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