The jam jars

I grew up in a small neighborhood in Savannah, Georgia. The houses were built on a large circle of land, so that everyone's backyards met in the middle. This arrangement made it easy for families to get to know each other.
My parents were blessed with some very special friends during my growing up years . A military family of redheads lived across the street from us . The Flemings were neighbors of ours in the late 50's. Larry, the dad, was in the Air Force, and we knew that the Flemings would probably not be staying long. The friendship that grew between my family and the Flemings in the short time they lived nearby left a lasting impression that lingers even today.
Larry’s wife, Peg, and my Mom were destined to be best friends from the moment they met. They were both right smack in the middle of raising young children and they supported each other through the challenges that time of life presented. Those two were like Betty Rubble and Wilma Flintstone. The two women were experts at making the best of any trying situation.
Opportunity knocked in 1958, when the Flemings were "blessed" with some unexpected guests. The surprise visitors filled the Fleming’s home and overflowed into our own. My mother offered our house as an extra "Inn" to accommodate the out of towners that Peg couldn't squeeze into her place. The guests settled right in, and became so comfortable that they decided to stay a few Extra days. Eventually, rations ran low in both resorts and the houseguests decided to pack up and head home. Although I was too young to remember the visit, I distinctly recall a neighborhood "sigh-of-relief" when the entourage finally said goodbye.

Somewhere along their way home, the guests stopped at a Stuckey's restaurant. At that time, "Stuckeys" was a household name. They were commonly found along the interstates, and were famous for their Pecan Logs and unusual, edible gifts. Several days after the Fleming's guests had left, Peg received a surprise package from Stuckeys. Inside the package was a gift assortment of miniature jars filled with jam. When Peg looked closer, she discovered the flavors were the oddest assortment ever imagined! The gift jam assortment included many unique flavors ; Kumquat marmalade, to name one. There were other interesting varieties, too-mostly flavors that wouldn't be considered safe for human consumption. Peg unselfishly decided to share this wondrous and most generous gift with her close friend and neighbor, my mom. The tiny jam jars packed quite a chuckle between the co-hosts! Mom and Peg laughed over those jambys so!
Not long after the marathon visitors’ gift had arrived, the Flemings were shipped to Brussels, Belgium. Although I missed the Fleming kids a lot, I know that my mom missed her confidant, and steadfast Partner-In Crime even more. Many quiet days followed at our house while we adjusted to the loss of our very special neighbors.
One day, we received an overseas package from Brussels!! Among the items inside were a beaded purse for me, some trinkets for mom, and one of the miniature jars!. Mom sent a short note to Peg, thanking her for her thoughtful package, but she made no particular reference to the receipt of the jar of jam. And so the saga of the touristing tasties began!! From that point on, every birthday, anniversary, or Christmas , one friend or the other would pass along or receive the jam. That tiny jar managed to make 3 trips across the world in the first year alone. In the states, the jam went from Kansas City to Montana-and points beyond- always bouncing off of our home base in Savannah in between trips.
In 1968, Peg's husband, Larry went to Viet Nam. It was a very scary time for our families. We were worried about Larry's safety, and it was very difficult to contact him. Larry could not tell Peg where he was, her mail was confidentially routed to him during that time. Mom wanted to cheer him up, so she assembled some sundry items, baked a few cookies and sent the jam in disguise. (In addition to Larry's safety, mom was also concerned for the jam's well-being.)She mailed the "care package" to Peg, who routed it to Larry via United States Air Force. We waited anxiously for news of the safe passage of our special package. Meanwhile, the jar -in-costume found Larry safe and sound as it arrived in Viet Nam in a can of coffee. Seemingly endless time passed. When we had not heard any quips about our package arriving, mom wrote her friend Peg, to inquire about the parcel she had sent. Peg sadly told her the post office in Saigon had been bombed, and she feared the "care package" had been destroyed or lost. We grieved. It looked as if the 10 year old traveling jam game had come to a sad finish. Then we went on with our lives. This was the first of many white lies the two friends told regarding the jam jar. The traveling exchanges continued with an added feature-the jars were ALWAYS DISGUISED, and NEVER MENTIONED . The mischievous friends enjoyed the challenge.
On one occasion, a seemingly identical jar arrived; open, and with most of its contents missing. A note explained that Larry and Peg had become weary of sending it back and forth, and had decided to finally try the foul substance on toast one morning. This substitute came to be known as the "sister jar".

In 1970, Peg came for a visit to North Carolina, where my parents had relocated. She managed to discretely leave the two 12 year old jars behind. Peg knew all my mom's best hiding places. She hid the jars so well, two years passed before mom found them again. She returned the new found jam and its sister, in a beautiful flower arrangement. Without a mention or a blink, the Flemings dug it out of the foam flower base and sent it back!! The traveling jam made trips to Missouri, Colorado Springs, and Great Falls. In 1974, the jam was mailed from the Panama Canal Zone. Eventually, the sister jar disappeared. The mystery of the missing sister jar remains still today.
My folks drove to Florida to visit their dear friends, and Peg duct-taped the jar to the rear bumper of my parent's car. My parents didn't notice it until they had to stop for gas on their trip home!!! Mom had the jar canned ( to look like a can of soup) and shipped it to Peg. The Flemings returned it in a unique hanging arrangement. Peg had taken a large styrofoam ball, hollowed out the center, planted the jam, then covered the ball with nuts of all kinds. The amateur florist then added a lovely ribbon to hang the arrangement with- and sent this concoction to us! It wasn’t long before this busy little jar arrived at Peg’s house inside a doll's tummy!
Mom's final disguise was a big, brown owl that she made in ceramics. It was hollow, so after she finished the owl, she placed the jar inside, filled the hollow space around the jar with plaster of paris and let it dry. She gently placed a lovely felt fabric bottom on it. The owl made several trips with the jar in tow. No one could figure out how to remove the jar without breaking the bird!. By this time, the jam was reaching the ripe old age of 20, so the friends retired the hide-and seek part of the game, and just took turns having the owl travel between houses. Sometimes the jammed owl would be carefully placed on a mantle, or would be used to decorate a shelf. It made a great conversation piece! Every so often, when the time was right, the bird would take flight and visit the other side.

I enjoyed hearing about and later being a part of the traveling jam jars and their escapades throughout my childhood. It was so exciting to receive gifts from exotic and exciting locations-even if I knew what the packages contained. The challenges of changing the disguise kept both friends on their toes for many years. There were many trials and tribulations that affected both families during those years. Through the loss of family members, job changes, child rearing challenges, the jam carried with it a positive distraction for all. The act of mailing the package time and time again kept the friendship ties strong between the two moms as well as our families. It still amazes me to realize that through all correspondence during those years, the jars were never mentioned in words.

In 1984, the 26 year old owl took its final flight from our house. It landed safely on Peg's doorstep. Not long after that last trip, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. She died 6 weeks later. I wonder if mom knew when she sent the owl to Peg -that last time- that it would be the final stop. Sometimes I think that she sent the owl to Peg when she did on purpose. I think she wanted to make sure it stayed safe with the tradition in tact.
Two years after my mom died, my dad passed away. The owl remained safe and securely nested under Peg's protection. Through the lonely days and months that followed the loss of my parents, the jam jar never crossed my mind. That was a special gift passed between special friends. I had been just one of many who watched the adventures unfold. I was someone who enjoyed hearing the amusing tales about it.

The touring days of the traveling jam withstood time, distance, weather, war, child rearing, retirement - even death- and lasted longer than many friendships. I find the memories of those days very comforting, even now. The history of the whole game, the wonderful and unique tradition- are refreshing thoughts to ponder. What a blessing to have been a part of such a unique experience.

After my parents passed, life pushed on. We added two more daughters to our family and expanded our household to 6.
My four daughters kept me busy. I realized, one day, that I was in the same stage of parenting as my mom and Peg were when they became friends. I appreciated and valued their relationship more than I did growing up. I decided to try to tell my children about the special bond my mom and Peg shared one day.

I wonder though, if they will ever really understand how a small jar of jam could have kept a friendship going for so long.

I know in my heart that somewhere in the world there's a tiny, well-worn jar of jam that still carries the love and friendship of two very special soul mates. That 50-year-old jam still exists, if only in my smiling memories. Maybe the story should be laid to rest. I'm just not sure, but if and when the time is right, I'll know.

Years after that stroll down memory lane, I received a package in the mail from an address I did not know. There was no note inside to accompany the brown ceramic owl. When the girls got home from school and work that day, I shared the whole long ago story with them and it made for good afternoon conversation and went really well with a snack and cold drink. I wrapped the owl up, and have kept it with me as I've moved over the last few years. The owl is broken now, but still holds a hardened clump of plaster with a little jam jar stuck inside.