The Mint Patch Monologue

Tag: family

  • Pencil Season

    I have had the aches and pains of nostalgia all week. I am plagued with longing for a time before I knew of the cruelness of life, and the pressures of responsibilities. A time when all I had to do was change into my swim suit (as long as time and temperature said it was at least 80 degrees) and my mother would drive us to the pool. I tried to recreate that for myself this summer, by spending every free moment I had swimming at the same public pool, the one mom would take us to every free summer day we had (which was many, every year.) She was a teacher so we spent our summers off together lounging, tanning, and doing lots of jumping in with our noses pinched. I never wanted to leave, and one more jump was always accepted as two or three more jumps in to the crystal water. I hadn’t handed over a five dollar bill to enter the pool for the day in 25 years, at least, until this past summer. I put fifty dollars in $5 bills into my purse in June and went every single chance I got. I swam laps, I jumped off the diving board, I read books, I cheered on kids who were scared, I watched them make friends, I saw dads be good dads, I witnessed pure human joy, and felt that joy myself too. The pool exists in a moment in time, that is untainted by time; simple floaties on little arms, hot dogs from the concession stand, cannonballs, belly flops, watchful lifeguards, and adults and kids alike sharing the understanding of what’s REALLY fun. I walked away from the pool for the last time this year on Sunday, my last free day before school started back.

    The pool always closes the day before the first day of school, probably because the lifeguards are students too. This is a part of the changing of the seasons, as happy as I am to welcome one I am also sad to let go of the other. Even letting go of winter leaves me sad knowing I will not see the pink sunrise on snow for another long while, and I miss my sweaters and my faithful electric blanket. But with change being life’s dearest constant I do my best to embrace what is new, again.

    This brings us to something I am happy to share with you, my pencil collection. It is simple, you see the middle school is a block over or so from my house, and for many years now my evening walks consist of picking up perfectly good pencils I find on the ground. This “hobby” of mine started when we moved into our house, on my walks I couldn’t help but to notice the litter of pencils all along the school grounds. I decided one day to pick them up and bring them home.

    Little genius tools, they are… writers’ tools, instruments of knowledge, understanding, and learning. Pure, and in no need of upgrades. A solemn reminder to me that keyboards haven’t stopped the practice of drawing letters on a page. They need sharpened, can be broken, and come in different styles, each one branded with it’s maker’s name. Rarely but still, some are found with deep bite marks, perhaps from the more nervous students, or ones who aren’t (middle schoolers are wild cards.)

    All in a week’s time I have gone from swimming back to pencil hunting for another season, a transition that has left me wading through nostalgia for my own first days back to school. For now, the days are still long as the seasons overlap. The garden is still thriving although the bean vines are turning yellow, and the tomato stalks are getting woody. Tomorrow is the first football game and I will likely go, if just to soak up a sense of belonging and to remember a world that existed before. As the lines on my face become drawn by the pencils of time, so do my memories multiply. For now I will be grateful for all of the watermelon in the world until it’s time to embrace the pumpkin spice.

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

    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