My Earlyman Grandfather & The Wonders of the Lemon

 My Earlyman Grandfather & The Wonders of the Lemon

Excerpted from the Book The RedRoad.
By Michael Mick Webster

As a young boy, I was deeply inspired by my grandfather’s tireless work ethic and quiet strength. He was what I call an “earlyman”—up before the sun, shoulder-to-shoulder with the responsibilities of life, and proud to meet them head-on.

Each morning began with a ritual shared by my grandparents: a glass of raw apple cider vinegar mixed with maple syrup or molasses, followed by strong black coffee, eggs sunny-side up, thick-cut bacon cooked to a crisp, toast, a wedge of sweet white onion, and a hot chili pepper. That black iron skillet—well-seasoned with years of use—first welcomed the bacon, then slowly fried the eggs in its savory grease. It was more than a meal. It was a symbol of a hardworking American life.

To this day, when I take early walks with my wife and catch a whiff of percolating coffee or bacon on the breeze, I’m transported back to that warm, safe kitchen. Those mornings felt like home—secure, loving, and grounded in values passed down through generations.

Granddad worked for the railroad. For 27 years, he never missed a day and was late only twice. He faced the unforgiving heat of the Southwest and the bitter cold of the winters without complaint. Whether it was laying track, driving spikes, or building bridges, he labored with a sense of honor. "It’s a good job,” he’d tell me. “And I’m glad to have it."

It was through Granddad’s railroad work that I first heard of the healing power and near-mythic endurance provided by lemons and limes. Many of the laborers he worked alongside were Yaqui and Apache—Native peoples with ancient traditions, fierce independence, and intimate knowledge of the land and its gifts.

The Yaqui were legendary for surviving for weeks with little to no food or water during treks across the desert. Their secret? Lemons and limes. They consumed the entire fruit and supplemented with water from remote springs, wild honey, and herbal teas such as sage. This natural sustenance kept them energized, mentally sharp, and strong—outlasting enemies and impressing even the most hardened soldiers.

My grandfather admired the Yaqui and often said, “They’ve always been here, and always will be.” He believed in their stories and passed them on to me, shaping my views of health, endurance, and respect for ancestral knowledge.

The Yaqui, indigenous to the Rio Yaqui valley in Sonora, Mexico, were never conquered. Even the Spanish, who subdued powerful empires like the Aztecs, struggled to defeat them. Fierce warriors and brilliant tacticians, they protected their lands and resisted colonization well into the 20th century.

As railroads expanded in the 1880s, Yaqui laborers were sought after for their grit and dedication. Many migrated to Arizona and New Mexico, establishing tight-knit communities. Today, over 12,500 Yaqui live in Arizona, with thousands more seeking tribal membership.

My grandfather also held great respect for the Apache. Known as “fighting men” by the Yuma and “the people” (N'de) in their own language, the Apache were unmatched in guerrilla warfare and survival. They hunted, foraged, and fought to protect their families and land with relentless courage.

The Apache were not one people but several—Western Apache, Chiricahua, Mescalero, Jicarilla, Lipan, and Kiowa Apache—each with distinct territories, traditions, and languages. Their homeland stretched from Arizona and New Mexico into Texas, Colorado, and beyond. Famous leaders like Geronimo, Cochise, and Victorio led resistance against U.S. and Mexican military campaigns for decades.

Despite persecution, broken treaties, and forced relocations, Apache resilience has endured. Today, many still live on reservations, preserving their culture, ceremonies, and indomitable spirit.

My grandfather saw in the Yaqui and Apache the same qualities he valued in himself—honor, resilience, loyalty to family, and connection to the land. He taught me that lemons weren’t just a fruit—they were a symbol of vitality, survival, and the quiet strength passed from generation to generation.

As I reflect on these memories and the traditions shared with me, I realize the wonders of the lemon are not just nutritional—they’re spiritual, historical, and cultural. They remind us that sometimes, nature provides everything we need—if only we take the time to listen and learn.