Happy Summer Solstice

Herbal Recipes and Rituals for the Longest Day of the Year

“There’s a rhythm the earth remembers, even when we forget. Every herb, every flower, every breath is part of that rhythm. All we have to do is listen.”

— From Forage & Gather

Happy Summer Solstice, my friends—

There’s a moment—just before the sun begins its slow golden descent on the longest day of the year—when everything holds its breath. The garden glows, the bees grow heavy with pollen, and the herbs, kissed by hours of sunlight, begin to release their richest, most intoxicating perfumes. That’s the moment I find myself pulled—no, summoned—into the kitchen. Not to cook in the usual sense, but to gather, to taste, and to weave the season’s essence into something fragrant and alive.

This solstice feels especially powerful. I’m shedding a few old skins and stepping into a new chapter of life—one that feels more alive, more rooted in joy. Just last evening, as the light softened and the garden settled into dusk, I found a gift nestled in the straw: a tiny blue egg, no larger than a coin. Known as a fairy egg, it was perfectly formed, yet smaller than a quail’s. A bit of natural whimsy, often laid at transitional times. And then, as if to reassure me, this morning she laid another—this time, full-sized and familiar. It felt like a blessing. A bit of encouragement from the universe: You’re on the right path. Keep going.

For me, the summer solstice isn’t just about sunshine and celebration—it’s about scent and flavor, about bringing the outside in, and letting the natural world mark the turning of the wheel. The herbs of midsummer are the generous ones—bold, fragrant, and full-hearted. They perfume our rooms, steep in our cups, and brighten our plates. They ask only to be used, and to be loved.

Here are a few of my favorite ways to bring the solstice into your kitchen—simple, seasonal, and shimmering with sunlight.

Herbal Honey for Golden Moments

There’s nothing quite like a spoonful of honey that tastes like a sun-drenched herb garden.

To make it:

Snip a few sprigs of lemon balm, thyme, mint, or lavender—whatever is thriving in your garden or market basket. I’m particularly fond of Apple Mint this time of year, with its fresh, fuzzy sweetness. Gently wash and dry your herbs, then lightly bruise the leaves to release their oils. Place them in a clean glass jar and cover with local honey, stirring slowly, like a spell.

Let the jar rest in the refrigerator for up to a week, turning it gently each day. Once infused, strain out the herbs and store the honey in a cool, dark place—or chilled if that’s your preference.

This golden elixir is lovely drizzled over fresh peaches, stirred into iced tea, or spooned onto warm toast with ricotta and a pinch of sea salt. Sunshine, bottled.

Solstice Herb Salt

This is one of the easiest and most beautiful ways to capture the flavor of the season.

Finely chop a mix of fragrant summer herbs—rosemary, thyme, lavender, and a few chive flowers if they’re still blooming. Add a whisper of lemon zest if your spirit feels bright. Combine with coarse sea salt and spread the mixture out to dry for a day or two, then tuck it into a pretty jar.

Sprinkle it on grilled vegetables, scatter it over ripe tomatoes, or use it to crown a hunk of warm bread slathered in butter. Each pinch is a handful of sunlight and summer.

Mint & Rose Sun Tea

This one is almost too simple to write down—but it’s pure solstice in a glass.

Take a generous handful of fresh mint leaves, a few unsprayed rose petals, and perhaps a sprig of lemon verbena if you have it. Add them to a large jar of spring water, then set the jar outside in the midday sun. Let it steep for a few hours under the open sky.

Strain, chill, and serve over ice with a twist of lemon or a drop of honey. It tastes like barefoot walks and old garden dreams. Like childhood. Like now.

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A Simple Summer Solstice Walking Meditation

“Walking gently is one of the oldest prayers we know.”

Before You Begin: What Is a Walking Meditation?

A walking meditation is simply the act of walking with presence. Instead of rushing from one place to another, we slow down—on purpose. We let go of the destination. We feel the earth beneath our feet. We breathe. We notice. We listen. It’s less about doing it “right,” and more about being here.

There’s no special posture, no goal. Just walk slowly and naturally, letting your awareness settle into your body, your senses, and the world around you. You can do this in your garden, down a wooded path, along a quiet sidewalk, or even in your own home.

And on the Summer Solstice—the longest, most golden day—it becomes a beautiful way to honor the light within and around you.

Solstice Walking Meditation

Begin by stepping outside.

Feel the warmth of the sun on your skin.

Let your body pause, just for a breath, before you move.

As you take your first steps…

Notice the contact of your feet with the earth.

Feel the weight shifting from heel to toe, one foot to the other.

You are not walking through the world—you are walking with it.

Let your breath be soft.

Let your gaze rest gently on the path ahead.

There is no need to search. Simply see.

As you walk…

Notice what is blooming.

Let your eyes find the small wildflowers, the bees at work, the shadows dancing.

Let your ears take in the hum of midsummer—the rustle of leaves, the sound of birdsong, maybe even the buzz of dragonflies.

Breathe it in. Breathe with it.

With each step, say silently—

Here I am.

This is enough.

Thank you.

You might pause to place your hand on a tree or brush your fingers over lavender.

You might find yourself smiling. Let it come.

Let this walk be a prayer of presence.

A hymn of footsteps.

A gentle honoring of the season you’re in—inside and out.

When You Return

Before you step back indoors, turn your face to the sun for one last moment.

Thank the light for walking with you.

Thank your body for moving through the world.

And whisper one last blessing, just for you:

“May I carry this light gently. May I let it shine, even in the smallest places.”

So have fun this weekend and let the herbs lead.

This is their season to shine—fragrant, wise, and generous. Whether you’re steeping a pot of mint tea, tying rosemary to a linen napkin, or simply brushing your hand across a patch of lavender in bloom, let this be your invitation to pause. To savor. To root yourself in the beauty that’s right here, right now.

The solstice reminds us that joy is a sense, not a concept. That beauty is often simple, fleeting, and waiting for us to notice.

If you’ve enjoyed this solstice stroll through my kitchen and garden, know that this is part of my free offering—written with love, for all who gather here.

But just beyond the garden gate, there’s more waiting:

Exclusive chapters from my upcoming book Forage & Gather

Extra seasonal recipes, remedies, and rituals from my stillroom

Letters written only for paid subscribers

If you feel called, I’d love to welcome you into that inner circle. Your support helps me keep writing, tending, and sharing the old ways in these very new times.

Become a paid subscriber — the kettle’s always on, and the table is always set.

“We are not here to escape the world. We are here to taste it—wild and sweet and green—with both hands open.”

— From Forage & Gather

With love and brightest blessings for the season ahead,

Beth