A simple small cellar beneath the old house with concrete walls and floors. Just a hint of mildew in the air. But an eerie smell off all things good.

It is a warm fall day as I went down into the cellar. There is a small east facing window which lets in a warm majestic glowing light. It is cool and dry there. There are rows on rows of stack upon stack of the fruits of her labor.

These perfectly arranged jars are glowing from within; lighted from the soft gently light streaming in from the small window.

Each jar has an interesting beauty all its own. Packed to perfection by mom’s loving hands. Rich in color is each individual jar, tempting and tasty.

Preserved for a needy time when harvest is over. Reminders of the fruitful bounty that once was. Put away to sustain them during the onset of winter.

An occasional mouse, cricket or spider flurries by. Locked outside unable to spoil the bountiful harvest.

Beautiful colors, soft and gentle, all warm and inviting to the eye.

Enticing the taste buds to dive in and enjoy. When set on the table the beauty of the harvest was relived.

Among the jars were special ones containing Sand Hill Plum Preserves. They were a beautiful sort of burnt orange color. Glowing with a fire within as if still alive. The flavor is incredible, like what you think of when you hear the word nectar. Beautiful sweet nectar; from the harvest of God.

When pilled on a slab of freshly made bread still warm out of the oven. Slathered with freshly made hand churned golden yellow butter. Such a feast is seldom had or enjoyed more. It is wonderful indeed, especially when coming in from the cold fall outside into the warm enticing kitchen.