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.

  • Only, for the sake of Beauty

    On gardening

    I learned something, some sort of secret whispered into my ears from the sweet pea vines. As I lay in the grass, comfortably, gazing up at them I realized that I might get only a pint (probably less) of peas from this massive row of intertwined vines I had growing before me. “why then, am I really doing this” I contemplated for only a second before I heard them say back to me… you created beauty. I’ve always felt clever and frugal as a gardener, someone with enough knowledge to stick it to the man, a way around buying bell peppers for 5 dollars a piece at the grocery store. Seeds have always enchanted me, but mainly gardening feels like a duty, a wise practice, clever. I realized after spotting the first few pods, that I could probably buy a 1/2 pound bag of frozen peas for a few dollars, and that would be clever compared to tying the homemade trellis I’d made with 78 tiny knots. But then what would I have to gaze upon in the quiet moments of my life, what could I explore the growth and change of, everyday. A plastic bag of frozen peas is good to eat, but my garden isn’t just for eating, it is an expression of my unexplainable adoration of sheer and perfect beauty. Words are inferior compared to the sight of a tender, living element of the whole that we all belong to. Only a careful and soft inspection of the garden with the eyes can cleanse the tired spirit that endures the fluorescent lights of the day. I am an artist of garden beds, of thriving colors, shapes, and textures. I can travel to art museums, and beaches; I can drive through the mountains and pull off the side of the road at over look stops. I can watch the sunset over the river, and I can read poems; no other beauty however, is more close to being my own, an extension of the way I see the world more so than my own masterpiece of vegetable plants and wildflowers. They are their own star, especially when the sun pours through their hues in the evenings. I cannot take any more credit than appreciating enough to set them into motion, and to care for them. It gives me pause to consider that we eat food without ever enjoying the sights of blooms, or the smells of the vines; that we can visit the grocery store, and stand amongst piles of produce but never saw the orchards. I spend hours studying my peach tree, well before the first July bite of the cobbler.

    This is all a consideration of creating in lieu of consuming. We soak up so much information in a day, we take in the news and fill up online shopping carts. We suck dry the reels, the shorts, 5 seconds, 10 seconds at a time; and we garden to make something else, something real. It’s an experience to be apart of with your hands. June is the perfect month to stare at the peas, their blooms, and to watch the translucent pods fill up slowly with little sweet bites of what you brought into existence. No pixels, nothing digital, just pastel hues and a million shades of green.

    As always please write to me, as I do love to chat!

    And please don’t forget to notice beauty, anywhere you may find it.

    justicesarah67@yahoo.com

  • Fire, Smoke, and Water

    I like to burn a fire while I’m watering my garden. To me there is something perfectly balanced between the heat and smoke of the fire against a pure and steady stream of fresh and cool water. There is a nice, dry pile of peach tree trimmings from the fall season ready to go up in flames quickly. I start by snapping the little twigs into armlength pieces and filling my above ground fire pit. They catch fire quick, too quick if I’m not prepared and sometimes leave me scrambling for bigger branches before it’s too late and all I have is a pile of ash and the need to start all over. Once I’ve got a good hot fire I can throw in a log or two, depending on how late into the night I’m willing to push back a bedtime, which is usually often. As the flames and smoke rise I reach for my gardening hose and as I stand in one spot after another, showering all of the plants, I look towards the fire, and back to the water. Back to the fire, and back again to the water. Both of these resources have meant survival since our species began, and I can still feel the satisfaction of having them- in my bones. If I close my eyes I can almost see images of Pangaea, the ancient world before us. I consider oceans, and volcanoes, some of natures most powerful forces and find my own power in capturing those events simply, at home. Fire and water both demand the virtue of respect, a good reminder to us all in times of social discourse and political disturbance.

    The contrast between nature’s two forces, both in my own control, makes for the most pleasant experience in the back yard on a mid May evening. After everything is good and drenched but never drowned, I poke around my stack of burning peach tree trimmings and toss in another log. Last year I bought a truckload of firewood from a nice man for $80, who delivered and stacked it for me on a very rainy day. I’ve chipped away at my supply now, but still have enough for a few more months. The best way to split the wood is to use a small axe, and a 4 pound steel mallet; a two hand (but easy) job. Wedge the axe in with one swift strike, then hammer the axe into the log one tap at a time until the log splits. Sometimes a dry log will burst apart, other times (if I am still) once the axe is halfway down, I can hear the wood slowly cracking it’s way loose. I pretend splitting firewood is a necessary chore around here in order to survive, and that makes it more exciting; it’s even better to throw on a pair of overalls for the job.

    Anticipating the harvest I’ve jumped ahead at making more concoctions in the kitchen. The results of the chive blossom vinegar are stunning, and I’ve been adding a drizzle to most of my plates. The little acidic zing is a cross between onion and garlic, and is a beautiful shade of lavender.

    In the spirit of pickling I decided to make pickled carrots. Store bought carrots this time, chopped up nicely and added to a jar of vinegar, garlic, a light drizzle of maple syrup and a secret ingredient- a handful of thyme. This was no result of planning, just a split choice (a wise choice) made towards the end of the process.

    My Friday night project was distilled rose water from a basketful of petals I plucked from my rose bush, and rose tea. The tea I’ve been adding to bath water and the distilled rose water makes for a refreshing face tonic.

    I poured 2 candles with dried lavender and marjoram sprinkled in between layers of wax. As I’m typing here I’m reminded that I need to buy jars, not necessarily for canning, but for housing all of my potions. There are no rules in using herbs as I’ve said before. I don’t measure things, and usually I’m just making things up as I go along. This also means that sometimes I use too much or not enough but am always pleased to experiment. Being curious can seem like a somber trance, thinking as I use my hands to create. We look too much up online, or at least I have a tendency to. If we take all of the answers at our fingertips don’t you think we might lose the ability to imagine solutions for ourselves? Artificial intelligence answers are too easy sometimes. I’ll give this example: I have a beautiful chicken to cook for dinner and I’m not sure what else to make. I could reach down into my pocket and type “best side dish for chicken” “summer side dishes” “chicken casserole recipe.” The response is immediate, data to quickly glance through until I’ve let the internet decide for me. Don’t get me wrong because I certainly do this, however, isn’t there something better in the long run about scouring a crisping drawer or a pantry shelf and creating something of your own..? Use it or lose it must apply to thinking, and I believe if you don’t have time to cook then you could stand to re arrange your minutes.

    Do have a wonderful evening.

    As always, reach out to me because I do love to chat!

    justicesarah67@yahoo.com