Each year, when Seville oranges make a brief appearance in the produce ailse of local grocery stores, I make marmalade. Partly it's to fulfill the canning portion of my Mount Pleasant residency requirements, but also to continue my British grandmother’s marmalade making tradition. She lives on Salt Spring Island and is fond of declaring that each year’s batch will likely be her last. She shares marmalade making tips with me and we trade jars. Her brother’s name is also Michael, so when I call her she often needs to clarify whether she’s speaking to her brother Michael or “Marmalade Michael.” If I ever decide to become a male stripper late in life, at least I will have a sweet name to fall back on.
