Creamy Lettuce Salad -- The First Greens of the Year

March. The first week of Maggie's life. The first week of the eighth year of my sobriety. The ninth anniversary of the IED a week from Saturday. The collisions of dates pile up in March every year and this year more than most. I am going to handle them the way I handle them. I will go to the cottonwood spot March eighth. I will call Linda. I will think about Derek.

The week was light on the ranch because the cattle are wintering steady and the calving for the regular group does not start until late March. I drove up to Bozeman twice — Wednesday with more food, Saturday for a longer visit. Maggie is one week old. She is, as far as I can tell, doing what babies do, which is sleep, eat, and produce, and not in any particular order. Tara is exhausted but her color is back. Cole is functioning at about thirty percent of his usual capacity, which is fine because his capacity has never been the problem. He is a good father already. I see it in the way he holds her — the way his whole body adjusts to her presence in his arms, the way his voice changes when he talks to her, an octave lower and softer than I have ever heard him. Cole has a baby voice. Cole. The man I grew up with. The man I drove to Cub Scouts with. He has a baby voice, and the baby voice is for his daughter, and life is layered and strange and good.

Patrick has been steady. The Tuesday confusion of two weeks ago has not repeated. The medication is in rhythm. He has been on the porch in his big coat in the afternoons and he wants to know everything Mom and I have to report from the visits to Bozeman. He cannot make the trip himself — too much for his hip, too much for his stamina — but he wants the news. He is engaged in a way he has not been engaged in months. The grandbaby. The grandbaby is, possibly, medicine. I have heard people say this and I had filed it under sentimental, and now I am watching it happen, and I am revising the filing.

Marcus made one hundred sixty-four days, almost six months. He came over Saturday to the AA cookout — I had asked the men if they wanted to come and they had said yes, and we had it at four because Tara and Cole and Maggie had driven down for the day and were staying for dinner — and Marcus held Maggie. Marcus, who at one hundred days had said he never thought he would see this side of recovery, holding a one-week-old baby in front of a fire on a Saturday afternoon in March on a Montana ranch. He held her like she was the most important thing in the world for ninety seconds, gave her back, and went outside the firelight to compose himself. He came back. He said nothing. We did not press. The men understood. The men know a thing about the value of being trusted with something fragile.

Cooked Sunday a roast pork shoulder and Mom's biscuits and a green salad with the first of the spring greens that have come in the south-facing cold frame Mom built in November. The first salad of the year. The lettuce was tiny but real. Mom said, I have been waiting for that lettuce, and ate a salad-bowl size salad. Patrick had two pieces of pork. Mom had one. Tara had two and a piece of biscuit. Cole had three biscuits. Maggie slept through the meal. The food was right. The week was good. I am eight months from being thirty-one and a year and three months out from publication and the book has settled into its quiet life on shelves and the second book — which I have been thinking about, slowly, for two months now — is starting to take a shape in my mind. I will not write it for a while. The shape needs to keep settling. But it is there. The fire helps. Maggie helps. Marcus holding Maggie helps most of all because of what it means.

Mom built that cold frame on the south-facing slope in November and she checked it most days through January and February without saying much about it. When she sat down Sunday and ate a full bowl of that salad — those tiny, real leaves — I understood that some things you wait on quietly and then receive fully. This is the recipe we made to go with the pork, and it does not need to be more than it is. It was the first salad of the year. That was enough.

Creamy Lettuce Salad

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 1 large head butter lettuce or leaf lettuce, torn into pieces (or the first tender spring greens from the garden)
• 3 green onions, thinly sliced
• 1/2 cup sour cream
• 2 tablespoons mayonnaise
• 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar or apple cider vinegar
• 1 teaspoon sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
• 2 tablespoons fresh chives or dill, chopped (optional)

Instructions

1. Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the sour cream, mayonnaise, vinegar, sugar, salt, pepper, and garlic powder until smooth. Taste and adjust seasoning.
2. Prep the greens. Wash and dry the lettuce thoroughly. Tear larger leaves into bite-sized pieces. If using cold frame or garden greens, handle gently — early spring leaves are tender and bruise easily.
3. Combine. Place the lettuce and sliced green onions in a large salad bowl. Add fresh herbs if using.
4. Dress and serve. Spoon the creamy dressing over the salad just before serving and toss gently to coat. Do not overdress — the greens should be lightly coated, not heavy. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 85 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 4g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 230mg