For Very Warm Days
When August slows everything down, you can slow down too. Find the shade, drink something cold, and stop arguing with the heat.
When August slows everything down, you can slow down too. Find the shade, drink something cold, and stop arguing with the heat.
This chilled black tea blends fresh mint, ripe peaches, and a touch of honey for a refreshing pitcher of iced tea. Serve over plenty of ice and enjoy near something green.
After every sensible corner of the cottage proves too warm, Maeve finds relief in the breeze crossing the floor by the back door. Smokey approves the arrangement by taking her pillow.
Smokey would like to clarify a misunderstanding. Supervising is work. It requires finding a location with an unobstructed view of whatever someone else is doing. It requires remaining alert for important developments. Such as: A cupboard opening. Cheese appearing. Someone sitting in your chair. The possibility of lunch. It also requires occasional slow blinking to…
There comes a point every August when the tomatoes become unreasonable. For weeks, you wait. You inspect them. You turn them gently toward the sun. You have encouraging conversations. Nothing. Green. Green. Slightly different green. Then one morning you walk into the garden and apparently every tomato has ripened overnight. This is how I found…
Today’s ritual: Notice one thing that makes you wonder. A path you haven’t walked lately. A bird you don’t recognize. Blackberries beginning to darken along the hedge. A book you keep meaning to open. A cloud shaped suspiciously like a turnip. Then follow the curiosity for a little while. Not because it will be useful….
As the kettle boils and the earliest birds declare morning, Maeve brews lemon balm, mint and honey tea—and gives the day a few more minutes to decide what it wants to become.
There is an hour Maeve loves more than morning—the small blue pause when the insects are still singing, the kettle is beginning to warm, and nothing has become a plan yet.
I have been asked to comment on the moonflowers. Here are my findings. • They opened exactly when they intended to. • Staring at them for four consecutive evenings did not appear to speed up the process. • The porch blanket was acceptable. • The tea smelled promising. • The blueberry, goat cheese, and honey…
The first moonflowers opened yesterday. Not all of them. Just enough to make the garden feel as though it had quietly smiled. That felt like a perfectly reasonable excuse to bake something. These little oat cakes came together with a handful of blueberries gathered that morning, a spoonful of honey, and the last bit of…