By Second haying. Four days of twelve-hour work, the kind that leaves you too tired to think about anything except the task in front of you, which is sometimes a mercy. I hired the Hendersons again this year — Jake and his son Eli, who is sixteen and has the unhurried competence of a kid who grew up knowing what things actually cost. We work in near silence. The tractor doesn't leave room for conversation, and by noon there isn't much left to say that isn't already being said by the baler.
Patrick has found his role in haying season. He can't drive equipment anymore — his reaction time and the tremor in his right hand have made that a closed question — but he runs provisions. He makes sandwiches in the morning and drives the ATV out to the field at noon with a cooler of cold cuts and sweet tea and cookies from the box he thinks I don't know about. He tallies the bale count. He reads the weather radar and comes to find me when the barometric pressure drops. He does the part that needs to be done by someone who cares enough to pay attention, which turns out to be most of it.
On Wednesday afternoon a line of thunderstorms came through faster than expected and we had to get the last field cut and covered in about ninety minutes. Jake and I were both soaked by the end, laughing in the way you laugh when something difficult was also kind of magnificent. Patrick had pulled a tarp over the equipment I'd left out. He hadn't asked anyone whether to do it; he just saw what needed doing and did it. That's a kind of intelligence the Parkinson's hasn't touched.
Cold cut sandwiches with mustard and pickles eaten in a field under a sky that's either going to cooperate or isn't. The bread gets a little damp from the cooler. I don't know why that makes them taste better, but it does. Some things only work in context.
Patrick’s cold cut sandwiches have become the ritual that holds haying week together — and after Wednesday’s storm and that last mad push to get the field covered, the four of us deserved every layer of this turkey club. It’s the sandwich he builds when the work is serious: stacked with turkey, bacon, crisp lettuce, and a swipe of mustard on bread that holds up in a cooler without going to pieces. I’ve asked him to write it down more than once, and this is finally as close as it gets.
Turkey Club Sandwich
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 6 slices sandwich bread (white or whole wheat), toasted
- 6 oz deli turkey breast, thinly sliced
- 4 slices bacon, cooked until crisp
- 2 slices Swiss or cheddar cheese
- 2 leaves romaine or iceberg lettuce
- 1 medium tomato, sliced
- 4 slices dill pickle
- 2 tablespoons yellow or Dijon mustard
- 2 tablespoons mayonnaise
- Salt and black pepper to taste
Instructions
- Toast the bread. Toast all six slices until golden and sturdy enough to hold up in a cooler without going soggy.
- Spread the condiments. Spread mustard on one side of two slices and mayonnaise on one side of the remaining four slices.
- Build the first layer. On a mustard-spread slice, layer half the turkey, one slice of cheese, and a few pickle slices. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
- Add the middle slice. Place a mayo-spread slice on top (mayo side up), then add two strips of bacon, a lettuce leaf, and two or three tomato slices.
- Top and press. Finish with a mayo-spread slice, mayo side down. Press gently and secure with a toothpick or wrap tightly in parchment for the cooler.
- Repeat. Assemble the second sandwich the same way. Wrap both snugly and refrigerate or pack in a cooler until ready to eat.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 520 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 1340mg