The Mint Patch Monologue

Contributions Dedicated to

Preserving the Timeless Writing

of Gladys Bagg Taber for

Future Generations

The Mint Patch Monologue is meant to welcome any reader to enter a quiet space, to celebrate life’s simple pleasures, and to find encouragement. Inspired by the late Gladys Bagg Taber (1899-1980) my writing is dedicated to preserving her legacy. She was the author of 59 books, including the Stillmeadow books, and columnist for Ladies’ Home Journal and Family Circle. Her warm and friendly spirit lives on in her every page, this blog is a bridge to that comfort, may we all still experience it. I choose to follow her lead in life- to regard community and neighborliness, to have an earnest relationship with the natural world, to remain full-hearted in the face of grief, to give any curious recipe the chance for success but the acceptance of defeat, and to sit under the stars at the end of a long summer day with a grateful sincerity.

  • Duck Days

    Since I was a little girl, the first bit of information I want as soon as my eyes flutter open is to know what’s happening outside. So, Sunday morning at 8 o’clock I pulled my big outdoor chair through the grass to the middle of the backyard so I could sit, and have my hot morning coffee since the forecast was 14 hours of rain. The rain was scheduled to start at precisely 9 o’clock; all the time I had to spend in the presence of the fading zinnias and late purple cosmos was one, short hour. I happily stole that hour before the clouds rolled in on time; I was the early bird, and my worm was a peaceful start to my day. I watched the yellow finches take what was rightfully theirs; they perch on slumped over sunflowers, crook their little necks upside down and pluck out seeds. The peach tree had shed nearly half of its leaves, leaving the tree looking older, worn. Aging folks who lose their hair are just trees in the wind, their roots are still deep, and their wisdom just as sturdy. Life’s last season is probably a long one for some, yet abundant and ripe with simple joy. I meet lots of older folks and spend time talking to them; they are always willing to look beyond the rotten fruit of the day. Their gratitude is contagious, and I am always left with a sureness in my heart that even on a cloudy day, the sun still shines.

    As I looked over my right shoulder I saw an indigo sky, ominous and honest. Best to have a welcoming spirit for any visitors passing through, including the rainstorm that has come to wash our hills and valleys, as it did the farmland to our west overnight. ‘Beyond us, storm, you will meet the mountains and then cast yourself off into your mothering sea. Because of you our birds will bathe, our bees will drink, and the last green grass of the year will stand to salute your journey. Our porch chairs will shine.’

    The wind howled its friendly “HellOOO” and reminded me that just like the sunflowers give way to the change in the air, so should we lean into the directed of life’s winds too. Their stalks grew strong enough to bend without breaking, and let me remind you, so did you. The push and pull of life can really fold us over backwards sometimes, but in our roughest storms, we can be like the oak. Unlike the trees, we can always find shelter in our own homes or a friend’s, and remember the truth that life treats us more fairly than we deserve sometimes.

    I heard the church bells from up the street announce the hour, 9 strikes. The storm was right on time. The temperature had dropped, and the last sips of coffee were cool against my lips. A gust of wind brought down a thick curtain of leaves at once, they did not gently float in a cursive wave with ease but fell heavy and urgently. That was our stage cue, the show was about to start. I thought of “Auntie Em” as my hair scrambled in all directions. The morning’s chorus of birds silenced, and my little lap dog lifted his nose high, investigating the intrusive air. Animals are always paying attention. Quick! We made a run for the house, and as the screen door flew open and we jumped inside and were greeted with stillness, and dim warmth. Rain drops fell like marbles onto the roof; we had nearly gotten caught in a cold, autumn rain. A day now, just for ducks.

    Thanks for reading, and as always drop me a line sometime. I DO love to chat!

    readnwrite11@gmail.com

  • A Meeting Place for the Sun

    It is one mile from my front porch steps to the giant oak tree, just past the cemetery gate. It’s a good walk for talking, for watching out for bumps in the sidewalk, and for noticing details. Chris and I choose things we like; hanging ferns, stained glass around door frames, etched windows, red geraniums. We look for painted shutters, unique mailboxes, bird feeders that fend off squirrels, squirrel feeders. The day after Halloween we found the sidewalks littered with candy that never made it into pillow cases. We count how many cats we pass and politely explain to the ones that want to follow us that we are not taking any new pets at the moment, and encourage them to go on home. Most walks we take together are after dinner, and since we turned our clocks back an hour, we have to eat pretty early to catch the sunset at the cemetery. Chris’s watch alerts us that we’ve gone a mile, and just as we meet the base of the tallest oak, we get a moment with the sun. This ephemeral echo reminds us the feeling of happiness, which is a fleeting feeling we must acknowledge. Moments that bring us contentment are mysterious, it’s hard to pin down those times when we are really smiling. They can’t always be called upon, planned, or choreographed into the day, they just appear, and we must recognize when the universe drops a rose at our feet. Roses last a short while, their petals let go and shrivel. Even the glow of lightning bugs can’t be contained in jelly jars forever. Sometimes reaching just pushes something further away; all you can do is pay attention, and accept that every once in a while, pleasure flutters by.

     “The serene philosophy of the pink rose is steadying. Its fragrant, delicate petals open fully and are ready to fall, without regret or disillusion, after only a day in the sun.-Rachel Peden

     If we get to the cemetery late, we get out our cameras and try to capture as best we can our experience. It’s too bad our minds don’t work as well as our eyes, if only we could retrieve mental images with such detail and luster; a camera can give eternity to a moment. We try different angles, turn around, and see the setting hues change in an instant. On this particular night, you could have stood still and watched the world turn. I am in awe of the mighty fireball in the sky, the one that sustains our lives at a perfect distance, which happens to be 93 million miles. Its light finds us in our beds early, it peeks into our homes and gives the furry friends a square on the floor to bask in.

    Of course we walk with care as we weave our way towards the oldest part of the cemetery, graves there date all the way back to the 1840s. It is humbling to notice how short lives were before modern medicine and scientific knowledge. However, I do believe people before us had more resilience, or what is called “grit.” We chase over the Moores, the Smiths, the Kincaids, and the Pritchards to get the best views, we can see the water tower from the edge of the hillside. As we walk the mile back home at dusk we are silent, no need to disrupt what our senses are savoring.

     On adventurous mornings, I crawl out from beneath warm quilts to greet the sun in the same place we parted in the evenings. One mile to the base of the tallest oak, and well, hello sunshine. As the sun lifts heavy fog, it gives the dead place life. Headstones seem joyful to be warmed after a cold night, and the long shadows are whimsical.  I must offer a nod of respect to those deceased; their memorials individually are mournful, but the collection of them all against rolling hills gives us beauty after death. If one day my own headstone sits still against the sun as it rises or sets, I sure hope someone walking by remembers me. There is no more peaceful a place to greet the sun by morning or to tuck it in at night than in the presence of resting souls and white tailed deer.

    On the hardest days we have, it’s comforting to know the sun will eventually bring with it better days. If we remember to trust in its ancient wisdom, we can be reminded that a bright day can come up short for those that have not endured the dark ones. Remember the light that is waiting for you at the end of your dark tunnel, and cherish your days best you can before you take your final rest  by the oak in the stillness.

    As always, dear reader, thank you for reading and please, drop me a line because I DO love to chat!

    Find me on instagram @mintpatchmonologue

    readnwrite11@gmail.com