Boozy Blackberry Sage Lemonade -- From the Hollow, in a Glass

Cold week. The diesel in the tractor jelled. Worked at the construction company in Lexington this week. The body holds. Most days.

Connie at the vet clinic, four shifts this week. Her back is tired. She does not say so. I see it. Mama is 85. She is the toughest person I have ever known. She still cooks every day in the company house in Evarts.

Cabbage rolls Sunday. Pork and rice and cabbage. Long bake.

Travis called Tuesday. The landscaping company is busy. He sounds tired in a good way. Amber called from Louisville. Hospital is busy. Floor nurse to charge nurse to nurse manager — she is the most successful Hensley alive.

I went to bed at nine. The wood stove still warm. The dog at the foot of the bed.

Connie read aloud from a novel Tuesday evening while I worked on the bench. Some Appalachian writer she had picked up at the library in Whitesburg. The voice was the voice of where we live. We listened together.

My back was tight after the wood-splitting Saturday. Took an Aleve. Slept eight hours. Got up.

I went up to Earl's grave at the Evarts cemetery Saturday. Brought a beer. Drank half. Poured the rest on the dirt. Some traditions are mine alone.

Sunday service at Harlan First Baptist when we go. Pastor preached about Ruth and Boaz. The choir sang. Connie wore her gray dress.

Drove to Pineville for parts Wednesday. The hardware store man knew me. We talked about the weather and the price of feed. Forty minutes for a five-minute errand. That is rural Kentucky.

Travis sent a photo of Earl Thomas riding on the mower with him at a job site. The boy is wearing a Hensley Landscaping T-shirt that's too big. Three generations on a mower. I saved the photo.

I sat at the kitchen table Tuesday night working on the recipe project. Mama's soup beans. I cannot get the words right yet.

The creek was running clear Sunday afternoon. I watched a kingfisher work the riffle. Did not move for an hour. Some Sundays the watching is the worship.

Amber sent the kids' school photos this week. Nadia is taller every year. Marcus has Amber's serious face. Little Betty has Mama's eyes.

Read the paper at breakfast Tuesday. The county news is not great. The mines have not come back and they will not come back. The young people leave. The hollows empty. We stay.

Connie made jam Saturday afternoon. Wild blackberries from the patch up the hollow. Twelve jars. The pantry is filling for winter.

I sat on the porch with bourbon at sundown Friday. The fog rolled into the hollow the way it has every fog of every year. The porch was the porch. The bourbon was the bourbon.

Connie cut my hair on the porch Tuesday afternoon. She has been cutting my hair for forty years. The barber in Pineville cannot do what Connie does, which is also love.

The neighbor up the road — Old Roy, eighty-seven, lives alone — had a small heart scare. We took him soup beans Tuesday. Cornbread too. He cried a little when he ate. We all cry over soup beans eventually.

The dog — old Beau, fifteen years old — slept by the wood stove all afternoon Tuesday. He used to be a hunting dog. Now he is a heating pad with opinions.

Worked on a basement remodel job in Lexington. The work was good. The pay was good. The body is tired.

I split a half-cord of wood Saturday. Slowly. The back does not let me work fast anymore. It got done. The wood was for the smokehouse.

Connie pulled twelve jars of wild blackberry jam out of the canner that Saturday, berries she’d picked herself from the patch up the hollow, and the kitchen smelled like the end of something good. We had worked hard that week—splitting wood, long construction shifts, four days at the clinic—and I sat on the porch with bourbon at sundown watching the fog roll in the way it always has. When I came across this recipe, it felt like those two things asking to be together: the blackberries Connie put by, and the slow Friday-evening drink that belongs to no one but us.

Boozy Blackberry Sage Lemonade

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 cups fresh or frozen blackberries
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1/4 cup water (for simple syrup)
• 6–8 fresh sage leaves, plus more for garnish
• 1 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (about 6–8 lemons)
• 3 cups cold water
• 6 oz bourbon (or vodka for a lighter version)
• Ice, for serving
• Lemon slices, for garnish

Instructions

1. Make the blackberry sage syrup. Combine blackberries, sugar, 1/4 cup water, and sage leaves in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir and cook 8–10 minutes until the berries break down and the sugar dissolves completely. Remove from heat and let cool 10 minutes.
2. Strain the syrup. Pour the blackberry mixture through a fine-mesh strainer into a bowl or pitcher, pressing the solids with a spoon to extract all the liquid. Discard the pulp and spent sage. Let the syrup cool to room temperature.
3. Build the lemonade base. In a large pitcher, combine the fresh lemon juice and 3 cups cold water. Stir in the blackberry sage syrup and mix well. Taste and adjust sweetness with a touch more sugar if needed.
4. Add the spirit. Stir in the bourbon. For a batch cocktail, mix it directly into the pitcher. For individual servings, pour 1 1/2 oz bourbon into each ice-filled glass before topping with the lemonade.
5. Serve. Fill glasses with ice, pour the lemonade over, and garnish each glass with a fresh sage leaf and a lemon slice. Drink slowly. You earned it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 185 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 5mg