Jam

I didn't know that figs would turn into a series. But it has.
I didn't know that I would turn into a jam-maker. But I have.

So here we go:
3kg of freshly picked figs with half the amount of sugar, lemon juice and rind, cinnamon and vanilla in one pot. Jars in boiling water in the huge pot (thank you Louis Pasteur). Please excuse splashed cooker, but that boiling jam is lethal, I have already burnt my hand and tongue and am not going to risk another splash.
If I was one of those well organised jam-makers, I could blip a row of lovely, identical jars full of goodness, covered with nice checked fabric. Unfortunately I am not one of those people and my jam will end up in a few jars found in a cup-board and a few given by a kind neighbour.
As we speak, the jars are full and are boiling loudly. I'd better go and put another lot.

First fig on the tree.
More figs and a casualty.
Tree full of figs.

PS
I have just experienced for the first time the difficulty of lifting heavy jars out of boiling water. No, I haven't got special equipment like they show on internet pages regarding pasteurising. I used my tongues and an egg flipper to lift them out. Creativity or what.