About Us

Simmer Down: A Story of Jam, Love, and Legacy

The first time I stood on that wooden stool beside my grandfather, I could barely see over the rim of the pot. Steam rose in sweet clouds around us, carrying the scent of whatever fruit the season had brought—strawberries in June, peaches in July, blackberries in late summer. My small hands gripped the wooden spoon with all the determination a child could muster, stirring with wild enthusiasm.

"Simmer down," Pop-Pop would say with a gentle chuckle, his weathered hand covering mine to slow the frantic circles I was making. "Simmer down, now. The jam knows what to do. We're just here to guide it along."

I didn't understand then that he was teaching me about more than jam.

Those kitchen sessions became the rhythm of my childhood.  Every season brought its own magic, its own color bubbling in that pot. Pop-Pop would let me help measure the sugar, carefully pour in the pectin, and always—always—I'd get to taste a spoonful. The sweetness would explode across my tongue, still warm and alive, and I'd feel like we'd created something miraculous together.

"Good jam is meant to be shared," he would say as we filled the jars, the hot fruit settling into its glass homes. "That's where the real sweetness is—in the giving."

We'd line them up on the counter, those jewel-toned jars catching the afternoon light. Some would go to neighbors, others to friends, a few to the mailman and some stored in the cellar.  When people opened them weeks later, tasting summer in the middle of winter, they were tasting love. Pop-Pop's love. 

I carried that wooden spoon mentally with me through the years, even when life pulled me in other directions. But the lessons stayed close, simmering in my heart like fruit over a low flame. The patience. The care. The joy of creating something with your own hands. The profound satisfaction of sharing what you've made with others.

Now, when I stand in my own kitchen, surrounded by bubbling pots and the sweet steam of fruit transforming into something new, I hear his voice. When I catch myself stirring too quickly, too anxiously, I slow down. Simmer down. And when I package each jar for my business, placing the labels by hand, I think about all those jars we lined up together, all that love we sent out into the world.

My grandfather taught me that making jam isn't just about preserving fruit. It's about preserving moments, preserving love, preserving the sweetness of life so it can be savored long after the moment has passed.

I'm not just running a jam business. I'm spreading the same love he taught me to share, one jar at a time. And somewhere, I like to think he's smiling, watching me finally understand what he meant all those years ago when he'd place that first warm spoonful in my eager hands.

The jam knows what to do. We're just here to guide it along, and then send it out into the world with love.
Simmer down, Grandpa would say. Simmer down.

And I do. And the love keeps spreading.
Spread the Love ~ Sassy & Bold Jams by Karen Wahl