We ate so many strawberries this past week from our Mother’s Day outing that my son ended up at the doctor’s office covered in an “I ate too many red berries rash.” Uh-oh.

So, we used the rest and made Strawberry Freezer Jam. Have you ever tried this? It is terribly yummy and super easy.

I wrote about creating a frugal home and one of my goals was to learn to can. This is my first attempt.  (I’ve decided that going frugal is hard work. I’m much better at being thrifty. Is that too honest? I’m not giving up, just being realistic!)

And since I’m being so honest, remember this post about my urban homestead thriving? Well. My plants all have yellow leaves from too much rain. My rabbit’s furry white coat is stained with poop (too much lettuce), the compost pile stinks to high heaven, I’ve gained 3.5 pounds from all the bread I’ve been baking and I’m tired of the muddy boot prints all over the floor.

I feel better now.

Back to the Freezer Jam. Here’s the recipe (it’s included in the Sure Gel or Fruit Pectin jello package). 

To make around 3 pint sized jars, you need two cups of crushed strawberries, 4 cups of sugar, a little water and a box of Sure-Gel (canning section of the grocery store). That’s it!

Freezer jam is kept in the freezer and is delicious on warm toast and biscuits.

But apparently, over consumption of freezer jam causes a rash too.

{scratch, scratch}

Oh, and really honest blog posts.

Clearly, it is life-changing.

We got a bunny, a rabbit, a hare.

When Spring blooms, I remember my childhood, in the city. One filled with laughter and snapshot memories of Easter chicks dyed pink and bunny-filled hutches in our backyard. Back in the 80′s, you could pick up a peep in the grocery story this time of year. And we did. 

Just for fun.

My kids, especially my oldest, yearn for some land to stretch out on and fulfill 4H dreams of rabbit-raising and horse-petting. 

With our broken economy and commitment to cut-back, this may be our dream farm, all 1/8 of an acre. And so, we decided not to wait for land or common sense, it seems.

Meet Marshmallow:

Nicknamed: Marsha, if she turns out to be a girl and Mallow if she, is really a he.  (We’re working on the identification).

Let me chronicle the first 24 hours, because I know you care. 

While my hubby set up the cage we borrowed from my Mom, my 2 year old decided she was thirsty and not prejudice against bunny germs:

It also seems that my 9 year old requires much less sleep than her parents. Because she woke us up at 5:30 a.m. to talk about her plans for showing the bunny at the Livestock show next year and again at 6:00 a.m. to ask if she could play with Marsha.  Oh, and again at 6:30 a.m. to let us know (through tears and snot) that Marsha peed on her bed and she was lost upstairs somewhere. 

That’s when my hubby leaned over and declared, “I don’t think I’m going to participate in the bunny raising.” And that’s when I leaned right back and “let him have it.”

6:30 a.m. missing bunny and pee pee will do that to a girl.

But Mallow was found by the nonparticipating Dad in the family.

And it turns out I actually recaptured my childhood for the moment.

I should also note that Marshmallow is of the California blood-line. These rabbits are bred for meat and grow to be an average of 22 pounds. And we just thought she (or he) was on sale.

I find those facts completely hysterical, just so you know.  Also, we have no idea what we’re doing, but my new book (Country Wisdom & Know-How) has a chapter on rabbits, with recipes.

P.S. I am open to rabbit advice. And if you get a wild hare, tell me about your childhood bunny or peeps. Unless you were deprived like my hubby.