Elixir

When people say, "let me know if there's anything I can do," I don't often take them seriously. I appreciate the sentiment, accept the good vibes, and leave it at that.

But sometimes, I take a risk, and I DO let people know what they can do. Yesterday, I reached out to three coworkers, only one of whom I've ever hung out with socially, and said,

"You know what? You can come over this week and pull an entire summer's worth of giant weeds out of my garden boxes and throw some garlic in the ground. That would be really helpful. Can you do that?"

And all three of them said

YES

and

LET'S GO

and

HOW ABOUT THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW

like we were already friends in the habit of showing up for one another.

These are odd and vulnerable times. My mom is in hospice. I've probably had Covid for the last week and a half, and my partner's been sick, too. My feelings about the state of the world are all tangled up with more personal grief.

But the most wonderful parts of my life have always been about the ways we hold each other, which means many of the most wonderful parts of my life have showed up alongside the hardest parts of my life.

I pulled out three sets of gardening gloves, clippers, shears, trowels, rakes and spades and left them neatly lined up on my porch for my coworkers - now friends - to find. I also pulled out three jars of the applesauce I canned last fall. Last fall was a good year for apples, and a good year for having the energy to go pick them, make sauce, and preserve it for harder days.

This year is hard year for a lot of things. The late spring frosts hurt the apple crop so badly that even the bruised apples were selling for full price. When I set those jars out for my new friends, I was saying your willingness to do this amazes me and changes how I feel about the world just a little bit. I'm not sure they got that part, but I hope they did.

The first two to arrive showed up with open hands and full hearts and immediately got to work on the weeds. The third one, who lives just a few doors down the road but has the most flexible relationship with time, joined them a little later. I could hear them laughing and talking in the yard, the way people do when they're outside and alive and doing something that matters. From my place on the couch, I couldn't see them, but I could picture them harvesting the dregs of the tomatoes and basil and peppers and herbs, digging up that stupidly invasive clover I meant to put down as a cover crop two years ago, and planting the garlic I didn't I have the strength to get in the ground.

All I had to thank them was a couple pints of last year's applesauce, and none of us knew what to do about everything else in the world, but in that one moment, we knew what we could do for each other.

And then I heard one of the voices getting closer, followed by a knock on my front door.

By the time I wrestled myself off the couch, he was already back among the weeds, but when I opened the front door, I found a jar on the doormat - exactly the same size as the jars of applesauce, but this one was filled with something else. Frozen broth. The magic elixir. He'd been seeing me cough on Zoom calls all week, and knew he could do one more thing to help.

I pried the lid off the jar and thawed it in the microwave until it almost was almost boiling. Even the fragrant, heady steam seemed to soothe some of the sickness in my chest, like the broth just couldn't wait to do its healing magic.

The first sip was scalding and perfect - hot, rich, salty. I could taste the time in it, the two days on a low back burner in a pot big enough to hold all those bits and bones. Another sip, and I felt my voice start to come back. I didn't cough once while I drank it. I lifted a toast to my empty living room and snapped a photo to text to him later, to show my appreciation.

"What's your secret, man?" I rasped out my window into the garden. The sounds of shovels and rakes stopped for a moment while he answered me.

"Turkey bones," he explained. I was intrigued. He explained that they're richer than chicken bones, but without the heaviness of beef. He was right. The broth slipped down my throat, seeming to ease everything in its path. Before he left, I made him give me the recipe.

Elixir

Ingredients:

• 3 yellow onions, peeled and roughly chopped
• half a head (about 8 ribs) of celery, leaves included, roughly chopped
• 3 carrots, roughly chopped
• a mix of half turkey bones and half chicken bones
• 2 heads of garlic, peeled but not chopped
• salt
• pepper
• 2 lemons
• a bunch of parsley
• olive oil
• a baking sheet
• a pot that holds at least 8 quarts

Instructions:

1. Turn your oven to 425 degrees.
2. Toss your vegetables with a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, until they're shiny but not dripping.
3. Put your vegetables, plus your chicken and turkey bones on a baking sheet and get them going in the hot oven.
4. Roast until brown and sizzling, about 25 minutes.
5. Dump everything from the sheet pan into your biggest pot. Pour enough cold water into the pot to cover all the bones and vegetables. Set over medium heat until it begins to bubble.
6. BEFORE the stock comes to a roiling boil, turn the heat down to low, and set the pot on a back burner overnight, for at least 12 hours. This will only work if you have a pot that's 8 quarts or more - anything smaller, and you risk the stock boiling off completely.
7. In the morning, taste the stock. Now add some salt - it shouldn't taste perfect yet, but on its way to the right level of saltiness. Some of the broth will evaporate today, and you don't want to risk over-concentration.
8. If any of the bones are exposed at this point, add back some water to cover them again. Leave the pot on for another 12 hours.
9. In the final 30 minutes of cooking, add enough salt that it tastes good to you, some ground pepper, the bunch of parsley, and the juice of one of the lemons.
10. Once done, strain, taste for salt, pepper and lemon and add as necessary, then let cool. Freeze in pint jars for a day when you need it most.

Drink it as a kindness to yourself. Bring a jar to someone's doorstep. Remember that sometimes, you will ask people to show up for you in all the ways you probably don't deserve, and they will come anyway.

They will come anyway.