The Mint Patch Monologue

Tag: gardening

  • 30 Summers

    The end of June has me thinking about time…

    My work of 40 hours a week comes in quick, and early on Monday mornings. The daily routine begins with coffee, answering phone calls, answering questions, lots of standing, lots of listening to folks unload their woes. I collect my pay in exchange and go on about my day until another morning ferries me onto the next calendar square. We count the hours, my coworker and I, and bargain with the clock to move quickly…we beg for 5 o clock. How bad our days must be to “wish our lives away” in some sort of ignorance, ignoring our aging bodies while climbing up the trellis of mortality. Yes, the days are long, but the years are getting shorter.

    If I live to be 70, I’ll get another 30 summers.

    Another 30 gardens

    30 pool seasons

    30 more years of perfectly ripe cantaloupes.

    This, of course, is the plan… but what if I only get 5 or 10 more summers, 1 or 2 more?

    If this be my last then let me swim, and sweat, and be wild. Let my skin turn golden brown, my arms and legs go limber in the heat, my hair turn light around my face. 30 more times I’d want to see mist coming up from the lake after a steamy midday thunderstorm makes way for the sun’s return. I’d want to watch the yellow finch perch atop my sunflowers and pluck with delight its seeds, the bumblebees bounce from one bright bloom to another.

    To turn the garden hose against myself and dry off in the afternoon sun, to pour salt on ripe watermelon and spit seeds across the yard. I’d stay drunk on “still-hot-from-the-sun-tomatoes” eating them like apples, one after another. I’d go swimming every, single, day.

    But oh, to think about having 30 more summers leaves me in a state of bliss today. 30 more winters may fade the barn wood of my bones but 30 more springs would trickle a rosy pink back into my cheeks, just as the frozen creeks thaw. 30 more times I could watch the leaves turn from luscious green to bronze, fall onto the dark reflection of the water’s surface and glide away down the river.

    Maybe I am in this time reflection because of a sad conversation I had this week with a patient. A young, 74 years old fellow who had a biopsy on a lung spot came to me with the report. “It’s cancer, and not the kind that’s curable.” He went on to explain that the treatment would be a kind of cruel torture that didn’t interest him, and so he has been acquainted with the hospice program. These are low moments at work, words come slow and sometimes the truth just has to have its own silence in order to exist. He smiled, said thanks, and then him and his wife went on about their day. This must be his last summer, I thought to myself.

    Because I’m thinking of Michael this weekend, I will not let these short years go by without some reverence. I will not let my Monday morning cancel joy this week, and I will not sit back and let another summer fade casually by.

    For a Monday

    Monday mornings start with the wicked alarm
    Threatening you out of bed, filled with dread
    But falsely.
    Because, the world is sweet on Mondays
    Full of beginner’s charm
    My dear you must disarm
    And sip hot coffee against the cool dawn
    Like fresh steps of a summer fawn
    Go out into the day, and find a way
    To love the world.

    -Sarah Justice 2026

    Thank you for reading, and reach out because I DO love to chat!

    justicesarah67@yahoo.com

  • We should talk about Apples

    On my walk this morning I noticed a very sturdy tree, yielding plump and blushing apples. As the leaves have thinned, the fruit has a real  chance to show off in the golden sunlight of mid morning. I thought to myself, how tempting… just one! And then I wondered, do people even eat apples anymore? Of course they do or the grocery stores wouldn’t have displays of those perfectly uniform products all lined up and waiting to be sold by the pound. But my question is more… curious, as always. At what rate do people still plant apple trees, in comparison to a different time. A time when you’d get a phone call from the people up the road and they’d say “ we got a bucket of apples here for ya’ll”. Or better yet, they’d just bring them on over and if coffee wasn’t already on, it would be. Then you’d have a gift on your  hands and what would come first but pies, of course. Apple butter, apple sauce, dried rings, even homemade hooch. If nothing else then a sweet, crunchy snack to bridge your midday slump. What’s better than finishing an apple and chucking the core into the woods as hard as you can throw? Once upon a time school children presented the teacher with an apple and everything fell into place. One of the last times I ever sat with my great granny she had a bowl of little green apples in her lap, peeling them with an old paring knife, the handle and the blade held together with tape.

    That tree I saw was a portal to the past, I thought about Johnny Appleseed,  the mission he embarked on of growing trees from seed and his passion for conservation. I imagine Johnny found his way into our region along his way, I wondered if that tree was a descendant of his life’s work.

    I thought about neighborliness, community, someone to hold the ladder while you reached for the top. I’ve never looked towards an oak tree and wondered ..”who must have planted this tree”… but I did about that apple tree and every other apple tree I’ve ever seen.

    What inspires one to plant an apple tree? Perhaps having grandkids, or just for the sake of watching something bring forth food, something out of nothing. Maybe it’s because we want something to root for, to cheer on and to celebrate, or it might just be to hold hands with something nostalgic. Who had an apple tree in their yard from your past?

    In my yard there is a peach tree. I planted it 7 years ago and we have had nearly a dozen cobblers throughout it’s best producing years. People will warn of bees and other pests, or stepping into rotting fruit but it has been worth every nuisance. Nothing in my garden is more beautiful than rosy peaches in the hot July sun.   

    I needed a plan for Saturday anyways so in the spirit of the past’s portal, I baked an apple pie. I studied the label on a roll-out pie crust from the store and just couldn’t do myself that way, so I cut cold butter into flour and made a delightful mess for the sake of homemade crust. I peeled and cut granny smiths, and decided to find a recipe in an old community spiral cookbook. There is something special about a recipe donated for local fundraising and I’ve collected many of what I call “church cookbooks.” The one I chose was from right here in my own county, a series of recipes compiled by the Extension Homemakers of Boyd County from 1988. I was delighted to discover that the contributor of this Dutch Apple pie recipe was a lady I’ve come to know in the community, she is in her 80s now and I run into her from time to time at the neighborhood grocery store. I cannot wait to see her next, and to share with her this funny story of following her directions 37 years later.  I decided to add a lattice top, picture perfect.  
     

    In case you’re interest has been sparked- apple trees can be planted in late fall or early spring, and I can promise the first yield of fruit will be worth every effort.

    It’s hard to say how much apple tree planting is still alive, but I was happy to see this one. In a perfect world we’d have fruit trees in public parks, everyone would help to keep the trees healthy, and we’d have pie every night together.     

    I hope you get a piece of pie soon.

    Thank you for reading and as always drop me a line, I DO love to chat!

    justicesarah67@yahoo.com