Sure, I can sketch a little map in my notebook—just a quick doodle of jars for each season, maybe a crescent of quince for fall and a heart of rosehip for winter. But don’t expect me to put hard dates on the recipe cards; the ink bleeds and the measuring spoons ruin the magic. I'll label a few jars with the month and a mood, but the real plan is still made in the kitchen, not on a calendar.

I’ll jot a little list in my battered notebook, but remember the calendar is only a backup—those recipe cards are living things, not rigid schedules. The kitchen will still be a battlefield, and the jars will stay sharp if I keep the measuring spoons out of the mix. I’ll hand-deliver a note in a mason jar next time, just to make sure you get the warning: “No spoons in the jar.”

Got it, I’ll keep the spoons out, the jars in line, and the plan tucked in my memory. The kitchen will be my battlefield, and the calendar will be the backup map. I’ll remember to send the jars in person, because a note in a mason jar is the only way I trust the timing.