By July's first week. Fourth of July at the property. We did a small version this year — Hannah and I, Caleb and Miriam, Lily and Ben, Quoy (Ada was at a Haskell summer program in Lawrence and couldn't come). Eight people. Smoked ribs. Bean bread. Wild onion eggs from the dehydrated supply. Three Sisters succotash. Watermelon Caleb brought. The persimmon pudding I had made earlier in the week — strange to be making persimmon pudding in July from frozen pulp, but the house is the house, and we eat what we have.
Jesse turns fifty-four next week. The age I keep saying I'll write about when it comes, the age Danny didn't reach. Hannah hasn't mentioned it. I haven't mentioned it. We both know. It'll be a quiet birthday. I'll spend it on the property, walking, breathing, being alive. I'll think about Danny. I'll cook. I'll stand at the fire pit at sunset. I'll do what I always do, only with the weight of the year on my shoulders.
Lily said over dinner: how's the language. I said: not better than last year. She said: same as last year? I said: the same. The language is what it is for me — fragmentary, halting, present, useful for prayer and for plant names and for short conversations and for nothing more. Luna calls Lily for actual conversation. Tommy is starting to lap me. Kai is past me too now. The men of my generation are a layer the language is leaving behind, and the children are picking it up where we left it. I made peace with this years ago. I make peace with it again every time it comes up.
Caleb after dinner sat on the porch with Miriam. They had their hands together for the first time I'd seen. Just hands. Resting on the bench between them. Hannah saw it. She held my eye across the porch. We didn't say anything. The world keeps going.
Wednesday I started prepping for the surgery. Did a final round of the heavy projects — split a half cord more wood, cleaned the workshop, prepped the outdoor freezer for the long absence I won't have but will plan for. I'm doing what people do before surgery — closing the loose ends, organizing what won't organize itself for ten weeks. I am not afraid. I am cautious.
With eight people at the table and the fire pit going and watermelon already on the bench, I needed something that could sit in a big pitcher and hold its own next to all that food — the ribs, the succotash, the bean bread — without demanding attention. This punch is the one I keep coming back to for exactly that reason. It doesn’t announce itself. It just quietly makes everything a little easier, a little cooler, a little more like a day worth remembering.
Tangy Fruit Punch
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 12
Ingredients
- 1 can (12 oz) frozen lemonade concentrate, thawed
- 1 can (12 oz) frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed
- 1 can (6 oz) frozen limeade concentrate, thawed
- 1 bottle (2 liters) ginger ale, chilled
- 1 bottle (2 liters) lemon-lime soda, chilled
- 1 cup pineapple juice, chilled
- Ice, for serving
- Orange slices or fresh mint, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Combine concentrates. In a large punch bowl or pitcher, stir together the thawed lemonade, orange juice, and limeade concentrates until evenly blended.
- Add pineapple juice. Pour in the pineapple juice and stir to combine with the concentrates.
- Add sodas. Just before serving, slowly pour in the chilled ginger ale and lemon-lime soda. Stir gently to preserve the carbonation.
- Add ice and garnish. Add a generous amount of ice to the bowl or individual glasses. Garnish with orange slices or fresh mint if desired.
- Serve immediately. Ladle into cups and serve while cold and fizzy. Replenish ice as needed for outdoor gatherings.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 165 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 42g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 25mg