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.

  • lighting the way

    My neighbor installed flood lights a few years ago, they come on automatically at dark and are there to illuminate their back yard storage building for security. The problem with the building is that is is in the direction of my back yard, and my bedroom window. Anytime I want to build a fire and relax, I’m sometimes ran indoors by the artificial light pouring into the night outside. Some spots are shaded when the foliage in the heat of summer is at it’s peak, sometimes I can angle my chair to avoid it’s distraction. It’s just a fact of living in a neighborhood. However, there are comforting things I enjoy, the neighborhood is familiar to me and feels peaceful when everyone joins in turning in for quiet nights when all you can hear are crickets because it’s everyone’s collective bedtime. When a violent thunderstorm rolls in and everyone makes their way to the front porch to watch it feels like we’re all fans of the same team, just watching together.  There are good things and not so good things about anywhere you choose to  live, I deal with a bit of traffic, and a flood of light after the sun sets naturally.

    My curiosity to unscrew the lights myself or aim my nephew’s BB gun in their direction changed last year when hurricane Helene made landfall in September. I have lived in eastern Kentucky all my life and have only ever experienced long rainy days after a hurricane, we are far too inland for anything more than that. But last year was different, and as North Carolina flooded major wind and strong storms hit us here too, enough to knock my power out for 3 solid days. I remember seeing a purple sky and then everything just went dark. The hum of the refrigerator stopped, the air conditioner stood still, and battery preservation took top priority. Everything I thought to do required power or internet and I felt humbled to acknowledge my own dependence on electricity. Luckily I have been collecting taper candles and wall sconces from estate sales for years, interior illumination was no problem for me until it was time for bed. I should include that on this particular Friday, Saturday and Sunday I was alone. Chris was on tour at the time so it was just me and my perfect companion Percy to brave the dark and quiet days and nights.

    After a trip to the store for ice and a full tank of gas I settled in, and the sun went down. At bedtime I snuffed out all open flames and crawled under the covers. I felt lonely, the stillness was unsettling. Restless, I peeled back my curtains and saw the neighbor’s floodlights independently at work, the only light under the blanket of blackness for miles surrounding me. The light was grounding and comforting, a sweetness in the bitter. A constant in the face of disaster, a reminder that we were so lucky compared to those that had lost everything, even their homes. Throughout the night if I were to stir, the steady stream of warm light entering my dwelling place granted me my barring again. What I had once considered a nuisance became an anchor.

    I was reminded of this last night, in an unforgiving heat wave I had enough light to water my garden after 10pm, once the temperatures broke from being in the 90s,  shortly after the sun set.  The floodlights are my little moons now, there because we need them sometimes, how lucky we are.

    Thank you for reading, drop me a line sometime… I DO love to chat!

    justicesarah67@yahoo.com

  • The Garden Boss

    My, oh my, the garden. I have been so behind lately on writing from picking tomatoes, harvesting green beans, and sitting in awe of sunflowers. I have put up a few quarts of peas, shelling them was the most satisfying ritual, and now that the crop has finished producing and been laid to rest, I miss the tiny discoveries and abundant sound of popping pods. My husband doesn’t even like peas but loved the practice of growing them this year. Now is the time to decide if I want to plant another row for a fall harvest, what do you think?

    My German tomato plant has given us perfectly round and red beauties; small, somewhere in between the size of an early girl and a Rosella. They have been perfect for salads. One raised bed is entirely dedicated to tomatoes, most of them volunteers from last year with lots of cherry varieties. I  can see them blushing from the bedroom window I look out, and I like them  best still warm from the summer sun.  The crisper drawer is holding a pile of cucumbers, they really do sneak up on you if you’re not careful.  Once they get too yellow-ripe they can always be salvaged as a fresh juice ingredient or thrown to your neighbor’s chickens. That’s only wishful thinking on my end though, chickens aren’t allowed within the city  limits in town so I have to go a little further than next door for fresh eggs.

    A few discarded pumpkins and gourds from last fall that found their final rest in the garden beds have renewed themselves, and almost taken over the entire yard.  I have already reaped a nice sized, bright orange pumpkin which will be roasted and saved for November pies and pumpkin rolls. Chris makes the best pumpkin rolls and gets requests for them every year, but always makes an extra one for just us to keep at home. The other vines are welcoming mysterious little yellow and white shapes that are growing everyday, to be surprised in the garden is one of life’s greatest joys.

    There is one watermelon to report on so far, a nice dark green shade and about the size of a softball. The vine is healthy and making space for itself, of course we couldn’t wait so we’ve already devoured the sweetest watermelon from the grocery store, hand picked by Chris with skills I’m not equipped with.  I have been told that not everyone puts salt on their watermelon, which saddens me. Of course the sweetness alone is satisfactory, but the addition of a sprinkle (or a little dip) could bring a tear to a glass eye.  A salt shaker in the backyard is just as important as an indestructible spade, and a love for dirty hands.

    The bean tunnel is a wonderful place to “hang out in.” Although it’s a favorite place for mosquitoes too, it’s worth it.  I’ve placed a little table and a chair inside, and have morning coffee on the weekends. If you pair imagination with gardening you can romanticize life, feel as if you are in another place at another time, or  create something whimsical that no one else on the block has. Things like this conjure up a feeling, something sought after intentionally and then exist just to be experienced. From one garden box to another, all it takes is simple fencing poles, chicken wire, plastic tubing to reinforce the arch shape, and zip ties. Of course, there are a multitude of ways in which one can experience having morning coffee from the inside of a green tunnel of pole beans; incorporate a bit of string lighting and you can find yourself in a fairy tale-like scene, maybe a place where little mice are catching up on their knitting, where you can stay up late into the night with your nose in a book.
     

    I love  the way Glady’s Taber shared her reflections on life at the end of the day. In the summers she would talk about hard work and abundance, dreadful heat, and long days. She wrote about taking a dip in the swimming pond, and sharing the water with frogs, algae, water bugs, turtles and the occasional water snake. She mastered the ability to experience joy outside in every season.

    “Midsummer, in fact, is a good time to think about values, for the earth is fulfilling the promise of spring. I reflect that growth comes from the secret life of seed and bulb. And “as ye sow, so shall ye reap” seems a new truth. Some of the hopes I had in the spring did not, of course, come to blossom. Perhaps I did not tend them well enough, or perhaps they were not suitable to the climate of my life. But some hopes came to fruition, some plans were completed, and another season I can begin again!” -Gladys Taber

    Thank you again for reading, and as always drop me a line anytime because… I do love to chat!

    justicesarah67@yahoo.com