Grandma Madge’s Endless Summer Salad
There are some days when the world just feels heavy, and nothing seems quite right. It’s those days—humid, sticky, and dripping with the lazy, oppressive weight of summer—when we find ourselves longing for something simpler, something grounded in the familiar comfort of the past. For me, it was a quiet afternoon this past July, one of those days where the air is thick with nostalgia, and every breath seems like a step back in time.
I was sitting on my patio, watching the crusty sun scorched rose bushes about to get relief in the waning light. I had been thinking about Grandma Madge a lot lately—how she used to hit us on the head with Twizzlers before she gave them to us. It’s funny how certain smells or sights can trigger memories buried deep within you, how just a fleeting moment can remind you of something that feels as fresh as if it happened yesterday.
That’s when it hit me—the salad. The simple, humble salad that she used to make every summer. It wasn’t some elaborate dish; it wasn’t fancy, or adorned with microgreens, or paired with artisanal vinaigrettes. No, this was a salad that, like so many things in her life, was marked by simplicity and quiet obligation. I don’t even know if she ever wrote down the recipe. It was something she just knew, like the way she knew an old toilet brush was the best way to clean up cobwebs, or that my brother was stealing cookies from across the house.
But today, I needed that salad. The world needed that salad.
So, with the sun lazily dipping below the horizon and the sound of crickets slowly filling the air, I headed inside. The kitchen felt cooler than it had a moment ago, and as I opened the fridge, I couldn’t help but feel like I was standing in Grandma’s kitchen once again.
As I tossed the greens together, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm, like I had just uncovered a forgotten treasure. That salad was more than just a dish—it was a bridge to a simpler time, a reminder of how she always wanted to do what was expected, whether it was having the biggest collection of sunflower decor in her kitchen, or switching them out for roosters when the styles changed.
So, as the sky turned to twilight and the temp when down to 95 degrees, I made the salad—not just for myself, but for Grandma, too. Because sometimes, when we’re lost in the rush of our own lives, it’s those small, quiet moments—those simple acts—that help us remember the people who made us who we are.
And today, that simple salad brought her back to me, if only for a moment.
Grandma’s Endless Summer Salad Recipe
Ingredients:
One bag of Dole’s Endless Summer Salad (purchased begrudgingly, because people expect vegetables).
Instructions:
Open the bag of salad.
Pour the contents into a bowl.
Open the packets included in the bag and combine them with the salad.
Drizzle in the vinaigrette (or just dump it in—precision isn’t the point).
Serve with a generous side of judgment. Make faces of subtle disgust when people eat raw leaves, ensuring they understand how much you sacrificed to provide them with this salad.
