Ripening
What the garden taught me about turning forty and trusting my own timing
Welcome to the Michelle Seguin MD newsletter! Our community continues to grow, and I’m grateful to share this space with you. In this week’s issue, I’m reflecting on the early harvests of July, turning forty, and what it means to ripen in our own time. Plus, a birthday gift from me to you, from my summer kitchen to yours!
Hello friends,
The early harvests of July are making their way to the table now. I'm also turning forty this week, which naturally invites a period of reflection. In the quiet moments between garden and kitchen, I’ve been thinking about ripening in a different way. I hope these reflections speak to you, wherever you are in your own season. Thank you for reading, and for accompanying me. It’s an honor to walk this path together.
With gratitude,
Dr. Michelle
Ripening
Garlic scapes curl like green ribbons in my hands, their tender bite a promise of pesto to come. I gather basil crowns as I learned somewhere along the way, pinching just above the node. Their peppery fragrance clings to my fingertips, and I know they'll return fuller than before.
By evening, my tiny summer kitchen fills with familiar sounds: herbs chopped on the cutting board, pasta water bubbling, the old food processor whirling as it turns this mid-summer harvest into creamy goodness. This is the meal that captures early July perfectly.
As I watch the ingredients come together, the sharp garlic scapes mellow into something softer, and the basil deepens to forest green. I find myself thinking about timing.
In the clinic, I hear patients apologize regularly for not being "ready" to make changes, as if health were a finish line to cross rather than a continuous process of tending. But standing here at forty, surrounded by my garden, I'm starting to understand readiness differently. I'm starting to understand ripening.
All around me, the garden is in steady motion. Tomato blossoms glow bright yellow against green stems, zucchini flowers unfurl like golden trumpets, and bean tendrils reach instinctively for their poles. The apple tree holds clusters of small, hard fruit that won't be ready until late September. Everything is unfolding, but only some things are ready. And that's enough.
This is the season of becoming, when the garden shows me what it's been preparing all along and offers just enough for tonight's table.
This is what forty feels like.
Not a peak moment, but the deep sense of when something is ready. Not the end of becoming, but the beginning of trusting my own seasons. Standing here in the garden's measured abundance, I realize I've been thinking about ripening all wrong.
For years, I thought of life as a mountain to climb, always striving, always pushing toward some moment of arrival. But the garden reveals something different. Life unfolds more like these herbs in my hands, growing more fragrant with each harvest, more complex in flavor as the roots deepen. The perennials that seemed quiet in spring have found their rhythm in summer’s heat, returning stronger with each season.
This is what forty feels like. I am perennial.
My roots have been growing deeper all along, my capacity expanding, my understanding of my own rhythms becoming clearer.
As the morning light catches the dew on the leaves around me, I feel something shift. Not the weight of time passing, but the lightness of time opening. Of seasons ahead. Of harvests yet to come that I can't even imagine from where I stand today.
As I turn forty this week, I'm learning to ask different questions.
Not "Am I ready?" but "What is ready in me right now?"
Not "What am I becoming?" but "How am I deepening?"
The garden reminds me that ripening isn't about arriving somewhere at all. It's about trusting the process, season after season, harvest after harvest.
I am ripening. Still. Again. Always.
Seasonal Practice: Ripening
If you find yourself in a season of transition, or simply curious about your own ripening process, step into your garden, your kitchen, or simply a quiet moment with yourself.
Notice what's ready now. Not what should be ready, not what you wish were ready, but what is actually ripe for harvest in this moment.
Ask gently:
What in my life has been quietly developing roots?
Where do I feel a new kind of readiness emerging?
What would it mean to trust my own timing?
Bonus Recipe: Garlic Scape Pesto
Garlic Scape Pesto
The recipe that started this reflection
Ingredients
1 1/2 cups garlic scapes, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 cup fresh basil leaves
1/3 cup pine nuts
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil (or more as needed)
Salt to taste
Start with the scapes. Pulse them in the food processor until they're roughly chopped, then add the basil leaves and pine nuts. Let the machine do the work until everything is finely chopped but not yet smooth.
Add the cheese and pulse a few more times to combine. With the processor running, slowly drizzle in the olive oil until you have a thick, creamy paste that still has some texture. Taste and add salt if needed, though the cheese often provides enough.
The pesto should be vibrant green and thick enough to coat pasta without being chunky. If it seems too thick, add olive oil a tablespoon at a time. If you're not using it immediately, press plastic wrap directly onto the surface to prevent browning, or drizzle a thin layer of olive oil on top.
This makes enough for 4 servings of pasta, with some left over for tomorrow's eggs or simple crostini. Or transform it into a basil vinaigrette like we did with this breakfast salad.
This salad was inspired by one of my favorite dishes from Sweetwater Café, a beloved restaurant from my residency days. Sweetwater is gone now, but the inspiration remains. I topped these garden greens with freshly smoked Lake Superior lake trout from my husband’s recent Isle Royale fishing trip—pure perfection!
Thank you for reading, and for being here as I mark this threshold. It means more than you know to share these seasons, these stories, and this path with you. I hope something in these words meets you wherever you are in your own unfolding.
With love and care,
Dr. Michelle
Physician, Gardener, Home Cook, and Forever Curious
P.S. If something here resonated, I’d be honored if you gave it a like or shared it with a friend. This space continues to grow into a community rooted in seasonal rhythms, good food, and thoughtful connection.
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Happiest Birthday to you, Michelle!!!
I hope you had a very happy birthday! I truly do love the comparison of how the progression of time often improves things for the better!