I’m shot. I worked in the garden all morning and before that I made refried beans, baked the Dutch Puff, started mixing up an oatmeal cake, and made granola. Once out in the garden I planted almost a pound of green beans (Empress), some sweet corn, leeks, the last of the peas, two packets of flowers, and sunflowers. There’s a lot more to do that I’d rather not get into now.

Planting a garden is exhausting and overwhelming. We are already running out of garden space (I feel slightly crazy when I think of all the food we’ll be pulling out of the garden in a couple months) and we haven’t even planted the three kinds of dried beans, the main crop of sweet corn, tomatoes, peppers, butternuts, zucchinis, and cucumbers.

There. I just went and told you all the other things I have to do. So much for not going into the details.

After feeding the kids lunch and getting Nickel down for his nap, I inhaled a piece and a half (and then some more snitches) of oatmeal cake, still warm from the oven, and my coffee. That brings me up to the present moment. I’m still tired. I have lots of brain energy, but my body is crying out for a break.

Right around now is when Mr. Handsome starts snorting and guffawing at my royal wimpiness. He is Mr. Superman—hauling bundles of shingles up onto roofs (I don’t let him tell me how high they are), carrying sheets of plywood on his head, framing up houses, slinking around in filthy crawl spaces, stuffing insulation in sweltering attics—all the live-long day. And then he comes home and mows and tills and takes care of the chickens and digs holes for my plants (if I beg loud enough) and organizes his barn and, and, and… So when I work outside for a couple hours and then moan about my aching body parts, he has absolutely no sympathy.

But hey, I pushed out some whomping huge babies, so really, he’s got nothin’ on me.

Anyway, I made some raspberry-mint tea the other day and it might be just the thing I need now to help me get my energy back. It’s clean, sweet, and fruity-minty, and it’s red. Red equals energy and fire and power and passion, right? In that case, I think this drink ought to have a corner on the kick-in-the-pants market.

Ah, that’s better. Now I’m off to plant the squashes.

Raspberry-Mint Tea

I threw these ingredients together willy-nilly, but I will try my best to give you some measurements to go on. That means, of course, that I’m totally bluffing, acting like there is a formula to this tea, so I suggest you take a brief gander at the ingredient list and then go create your own butt-kicking drink.

1 cup mint leaves, or 2 cups mint sprigs
8 cups water, divided
the juice of one lemon
½ -1 cup sugar
1-2 cups red raspberries

In a small saucepan, simmer the raspberries in two cups of water. Pour the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve, reserving the juice and discarding the seedy pulp.

Put four cups of water in a different saucepan and bring to a boil. Add the tea leaves, turn off the heat, clap on the lid, and let the tea steep for half an hour. Strain, reserving the liquid and discarding the leaves.

Combine the raspberry juice and the mint tea, the lemon juice, and the sugar. Add another couple cups of water—or ice, if you want to cool the tea faster—and chill.

To serve, pour over ice and garnish with a sprig of mint.

If you ever want to do something daring with your hair, something totally different, but are too timid, take a pair of scissors to your (a willing) child’s head. It’s almost just as good. It gives you a high to see your child with new locks—or not—and you feel brave and daring and like you’re living life on the edge. Is this why people become hairdressers, I wonder? Do they all get a little zip from leaving clumps of hair on the floor? Or maybe I only got the high because it was my own kid’s hair that was falling in satisfactory little heaps all over the tiled bathroom floor.

Miss Becca Boo was genuinely scandalized by Yo-Yo’s new look. “Everyone will laugh at you,” she warned, aghast that he would so casually endanger his place in society.

Yo-Yo just grinned and said, “No they won’t. They’ll make me head of the club. The person with the shortest hair is ruler.”

What? A short-haired club? Either I know nothing of my son’s social circles or he has a vivid imagination. I suspect the later. But hey, I love it that he’s bold enough to make his own fashion statements. He certainly didn’t inherit that trait from me.

Miss Becca Boo also pointed out that he was now a bald-headed baby like the two little boys in Because of Winn-Dixie, an elegant, simply-stated novel by Kate DiCamillo. I don’t think he looks anything at all like a baby with his skanky hair gone (thank goodness)—I think he looks more grown-up and sprightly, like a gnome. Maybe it’s just my mother’s eyes…

Yo-Yo’s hair came off in stages over a twenty-four hour period. First we buzzed it, and then the next day he tried shaving lines into it. Then I buzzed it lower. And lower. He wants it totally bald, but I’d have to use a razor and I’m scared I’ll cut him. I told that to Mr. Handsome. His nonchalant response? “It will heal.”

We’ll see … maybe if Yo-Yo begs. We’ve come this far; might as well go all the way.

I’m afraid I’m boring you with all my talk of rhubarb this and rhubarb that (and that), but the season isn’t over and I’m still going strong, so bear with me, please.

Up until this past week, I had never made sorbet. I’m an ice cream kind of gal. I’m a coffee gal, too, and to me, sorbet is to tea as ice cream is to coffee. So I’ve stuck with the rich, creamy frozen treats and ignored the world of fruity, icy palate cleansers.

Well, I’m here to tell you that sorbet has a place in this world for a reason. Simply stated, it’s good. I’ll still go for ice cream over sorbet (just about any day, if you want to know the truth), but sorbet is delicious, in its own right. It’s clean and fruity, sharp and sweet, light and elegant. It’s nothing to turn up a nose at, I’ve learned. Even a coffee-snob nose.

Rhubarb Sorbet
Adapted from a recipe of Garrett’s over at Simply Recipes.

My rhubarb tends to be greener than some varieties, so I added a few drops of red food coloring in order to give the sorbet a blushy hue. (I’m sure a few red raspberries, fresh cranberries, or strawberries thrown into the simmering saucepan would create an even rosier, and maybe tastier, sorbet, if you’re wanting to avoid the food coloring.)

This recipe is simple, all except for the straining part. I had to press every bit of the juice through my strainer with the back of a spoon, which really wouldn’t have been a big deal if I had been prepared for it. So consider this a heads-up—plan to spend a good ten to fifteen minutes swirling the pulp around in a strainer, waiting for the juice to seep through. Aside from that little inconvenience, the sorbet is a snap to make.

Sorbet freezes up much more quickly than ice cream—it took Mr. Handsome no more than ten minutes to crank it.

3 ½ cups rhubarb, cleaned and roughly chopped
2 ½ cups water
1 2/3 cups sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons orange zest
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
2 tablespoons corn syrup
3-4 drops red food coloring, optional

Combine the first six ingredients (down through the ginger) together in a saucepan, bring to a boil and simmer for five minutes. Cool the mixture for ten minutes. Puree the pulpy goop in the blender and pour/mash it through a fine-mesh sieve. Add the corn syrup to the now pulpless juice, and stir in the food coloring, if desired.

Chill the liquid for at least four hours. (I kept mine in the fridge for several days till I was able to get Mr. Handsome to churn it for me). The base separates with a frothy white layer rising to the top. This is not a problem, so do not fret.

Churn the sorbet according to your ice cream machine’s instructions. This recipe makes a very generous quart.