Berry Tossed Salad

June arriving. The light holds until nearly ten o'clock now and the mornings are warm enough to work without a jacket. The grass in the home pasture is thick and green and the horses are content and the garden is running ahead of schedule — tomatoes already flowering, which I don't usually see until July. A good year. The land communicates this in a language I've been learning for thirty-nine years and am still refining.

I turn thirty-nine next week. I've been thinking about what thirty-nine means, which is a thing I do every year around this time. Thirty-eight was the book. Thirty-seven was the book proposal and the sobriety counting and the debt paid off. Thirty-six was... I had to think. Thirty-six was Mariposa, the rescue mare. It was Tom's mule book coming together. It was the fourth year sober and Dr. Crain moving to monthly from biweekly. Each year has a shape. You can't see it while you're in it; you can only see it after.

The book had its first piece of fan mail this week — a letter, actual paper letter, from a woman in Havre who said she'd grown up on a cattle ranch and left at eighteen and spent thirty years convincing herself that leaving was the right choice and that the book made her understand she could love a thing she didn't live anymore. She didn't ask for anything. She just wanted me to know. I wrote back by hand.

Cole and Tara's second child is due in October. They're not finding out the sex, which is a choice I respect and which is also frankly keeping me more interested in the news than I would be otherwise. June has been briefed — she's twenty months old, and the concept of a sibling has been explained to her with what Cole describes as "mixed results." She knows a baby is coming. Her opinion is pending.

Strawberry shortcake on Sunday, the peak-of-season version: farm strawberries from the Lewistown co-op, cold whipped cream, the biscuit-style shortcake rather than the sponge cake kind, which is the correct version and I will not debate it. May became June. The book is in the world. The strawberries are ready. Thirty-nine next week and I am, in the fullest sense I know how to mean it, all right.

The shortcake on Sunday got all the glory — and it earned it — but those Lewistown co-op strawberries showed up earlier in the week too, tossed into a salad that felt like the right opening act for a season that’s been generous in every direction. When the fruit is this good, you want it in as many places as possible, and this berry salad has become a reliable way to get it on the table fast, without any ceremony, on an ordinary Tuesday when the light is long and the horses are settled and things are, quietly, all right.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

8 cups mixed salad greens
1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
1/2 cup fresh blueberries
1/2 cup fresh raspberries
1/3 cup crumbled feta cheese
1/4 cup candied pecans or walnuts
1/4 small red onion, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon honey
1/2 teaspoon Dijon mustard
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Instructions

Make the dressing. In a small bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, balsamic vinegar, honey, and Dijon mustard until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.
Prep the berries. Rinse all berries gently and pat dry. Hull and slice the strawberries. Leave blueberries and raspberries whole.
Assemble the salad. Spread the mixed greens across a large serving bowl or platter. Scatter the strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries evenly over the top.
Add the toppings. Distribute the red onion slices, crumbled feta, and candied nuts over the salad.
Dress and serve. Drizzle the dressing over the salad just before serving and toss gently to coat, or serve the dressing on the side to keep the greens crisp.

Nutrition (per serving)

Berry Tossed Salad — The Strawberries Are Ready and So Am I