Roasted Beets — The Quiet Work of the Garden

Father's Day again. The third one without Daddy. No — the ninth one without Daddy. He died in 2008. Nine years. It doesn't feel like nine years. It feels like last Tuesday and like a hundred years ago, which is how time works when someone you love dies — it collapses and stretches simultaneously, like an accordion that nobody's playing but that still makes sound.

I went to Evarts. The annual Father's Day pilgrimage to Earl's grave. Just me and the mountain and the headstone and the things I say out loud to a man who can't hear them, or can hear them, depending on what you believe. I believe what's convenient: that Earl can hear me. That he's sitting on the other side of the stone, listening, drinking the coffee that was never quite hot enough and eating the biscuits that were always exactly right.

I told him about Clay. I said "Your grandson wants to join the Army." I waited for some kind of response — a sign, a feeling, a wind. There was no wind. There was June sun and the sound of a mockingbird and the distant hum of a four-wheeler on the ridge. Earl didn't speak. Earl didn't speak when he was alive, so expecting wisdom from beyond is optimistic to the point of delusion. But I sat there and I felt what I always feel at his grave: steady. Steadied. Like the mountain is holding me in place and the stone is an anchor and Earl's silence is the same silence he always offered, the silence that meant "I'm here. Keep going."

After the grave, I went to Betty's. She was in the garden. She's seventy-seven now — turned seventy-seven in February — and she's still in the garden on her hands and knees in June, putting in green beans and pulling weeds and arguing with the groundhog who eats her tomatoes every year. The groundhog has been eating her tomatoes since 2003. Betty has been complaining about the groundhog since 2003. Neither has gained ground. It's the longest standoff in Harlan County, which is saying something for a county known for standoffs.

I sat on the porch and shelled peas. June peas — small, sweet, straight from the garden. You shell them by running your thumb along the seam of the pod until it splits, and then you push the peas out with your thumb into a bowl. It's meditative. It's repetitive. It's the kind of work that frees your hands and lets your mind go wherever it needs to go, which today was nowhere in particular and everywhere at once.

Betty made the peas for supper: shelled peas cooked in a saucepan with a little butter, a pinch of sugar, salt, and just enough water to steam them. Cooked for about twenty minutes — tender, not mushy, each pea still holding its shape. Served with cornbread. A simple meal. A beautiful meal. A meal that tastes like June in the mountains and a mother who's been cooking for sixty-five years and doesn't need a recipe for anything because her hands are the recipe.

I drove home with pea shells on my shirt and mud on my boots and the feeling of being connected to something that doesn't change, even as everything else does. Happy Father's Day, Earl. The peas were good. The boy is growing. I'm keeping going.

Sitting on Betty’s porch with a bowl of fresh peas in my lap, I remembered what it feels like to let the garden do the talking — to trust that the simplest preparation is usually the right one. I came home wanting to stay in that feeling a little longer, to do something quiet and unhurried with my hands. Roasted beets are that kind of cooking: you scrub them, you wrap them, you let the oven do the work, and what comes out is something earthy and sweet and honest, the kind of thing that tastes like it came from ground you know.

Roasted Beets

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 50 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 4 medium beets (about 1 1/2 lbs), scrubbed and trimmed
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (optional)
• 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar (optional, for finishing)

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 400°F. Tear four squares of aluminum foil large enough to wrap a beet individually.
2. Prepare the beets. Scrub each beet under cold water and trim the tops and root ends. Rub each beet with about 1/2 tablespoon olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Add a few thyme leaves if using.
3. Wrap and roast. Wrap each beet tightly in its foil square and place on a rimmed baking sheet. Roast for 45–55 minutes, until a fork or knife slides easily through the center.
4. Cool and peel. Let the wrapped beets sit until cool enough to handle, about 10 minutes. Use the foil to rub away the skins — they will slip off easily. Alternatively, use a paper towel or wear gloves to avoid staining.
5. Slice and finish. Cut beets into wedges or 1/4-inch rounds. Arrange on a serving plate and drizzle with remaining olive oil and balsamic vinegar if using. Taste and adjust salt.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 95 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 12g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 210mg