I possess a treasured heirloom, passed down from my mother: a ritual...
Home visiting, I think it was during a Christmas Holiday one year, I was entrusted this bit of wisdom. In the early morning hours as the winter sun was just beginning to peak over the plains, I found my mom standing at the kitchen counter, squeezing a lemon into a mug of warm water. Looking up, a shy grin crept over her face and she said, "Sometimes, I even scrape the pulp in too," as she abraded lemon marrow into the steaming brew; then, added honey's ambrosial incantation.
Through this daily practice, I have evolved into a bit of a honey connoisseur. Simply "honey" does not exist. No. There is clover, wildflower, orange blossom, alfalfa...all with their own nuances and stories of where they have come from. One local apiarist told me that he places his hives near Open Spaces, and that I have probably encountered his Tribe while out hiking. I like thinking about this friendship with the creators of my morning sweetness.
And then came Meyer lemons.
I discovered them shortly after being diagnosed with Celiac Disease; this citrus, a Sweet Surprise while reading Gluten-Free Girl's post on Meyer Lemon Sorbet. I never made the sorbet, but I vigilantly hunted Meyer Lemons, scouting and waiting for Their Season. It arrived, and I fell in love. They are sweeter, their skin thinner, smoother, and their pulp darker than their more popular cousin. The Meyer's season is savored.
Before anything else, the day in stirred to life with water, lemon and honey as the morning mulls the day's fate and wakes digestion to rise.
I continue this tradition, this wisdom passed down generations.
To calm my irritated morning stomach, this panacea is offered, and is received gladly welcomed. I soothe and stimulate hopes for digestion. Each day's hopes, dawning and setting the same.....