Childhood Julep

We called it meadow tea.

We walked down to the creek and in the wild meadows on its banks, along with bluebells and buttercups, spearmint grew in abundance. We'd gather skirtfuls and take home to Mother to steep. Soon the lovely scent of mint would creep through the warm afternoons and in a bit we were sipping iced glasses of the lovely liquid on the front porch.

Now, I have to buy bunches of mint at the ultra-sleek grocery store - a tight little bunch for 99 cents - or more! I do have a mint plant out by my front stoop but it wouldn't survive the harvest needed to slake my thirst. It gets clipped to flavor salads and pasta and fish and nearly every food in the world that runs through my cooking hands.

But still, when I take that first sip of mint tea, I am back in the meadows, feeling the hot sun and welcome shades of creekside trees. And watching the butterflies and bees. And stepping carefully around cowpies. And dangling hot feet in the rushing waters. And smelling summer.