Yesterday afternoon after kickboxing class, I headed back to that pond. 

When we’d ice skated, we’d had to skirt a hole where some teens had cut through for a plunge earlier in the day. The whole time I was out there, that hole called to me. I’d never done a plunge. What was it like?

The next day, after playing Ultimate (and after learning that my older son and daughter-in-law had done the plunge on their way home from the game that afternoon), I texted the family chat: When the next cold snap comes this week, let’s do it! Half the family said yes, and we set the date.

I was low-grade anxious about slipping into an ice-covered pond, so I messaged a friend who routinely hurls himself into freezing bodies of water, and who had done a plunge at the same pond that weekend. “Since you’re the expert,” I wrote, “tell me what I need to know. Like, besides not dying, what are the logistics? What to bring? How to get warm afterward?” 

Those were rational questions. Subconsciously, the questions went something like, Do your feet bump the bodies of frozen fish? Are there icy hands hiding in the dark depths to grab my ankles and pull me under? Is it possible to immediately freeze into a human popsicle? Can you spontaneously go blind from the shock? Is it possible to have a heart attack from cold?

He sent back a thorough series of messages, the gist of which was:

• Wear loose, warm clothing (swimsuit underneath) that you can take off and put back on easily with wet feet.
• Slip-on boots would be nice, 
• Take a big soft towel. 
• The hole isn’t very big; keeping your hands on the edge makes it easy to slide in safely and quickly. 
• If you don’t mind keeping your eyes open, it’s easy to see the hole above you and get back out. 
• The hardest part is staying relaxed; the cold water makes breathing difficult and it can take your breath away. The other hardest part is getting your feet dry.
• Make sure there’s not a thin skim of ice in the hole. Sometimes it hides under a film of water and can give you abrasions.

My husband and younger son came to watch, and it’s good they did, too, since thick ice had formed over the hole. (My older son, who had been planning to do the plunge and was going to bring tools to cut through the ice, had a last-minute schedule conflict.) My husband used a digging iron to chop through the hole, and my son raked out the ice so we wouldn’t cut ourselves. Watching them, it seemed impossible that I would be getting into that water.

Outside temps were about 37°F/3°C. My daughter-in-law went first. 

She wanted to stay in for a minute, but called it quits after thirty seconds. 

Next, my older daughter. 

She made it a full minute.

Both of them were super calm and focused, breathing deeply, centered, like ice water goddesses. They made it look easy. 

Then it was my turn.

It wasn’t being in the water that was hard — that was actually the fine (though I wasn’t in for more than a few seconds, so I can’t really speak to that). What was scary was the mental game and all the unknowns, mainly: whether or not I’d be able to pull myself out.

I mean, I knew I could pull myself out, technically speaking, but how would I get a grip on slippy-wet ice that’s painfully cold and really really hard? That was the nerve-wracking part.

I got in — went under — and then hauled myself back onto the ice like an unhinged walrus with vocalization issues.

Seriously, people. I was such a baby, hollering and screeching, as though caterwauling would warm me up. I made less noise giving birth. 

^{photo credit for the pictures of me: my daughter-in-law}

As soon as I toweled off and got clothes on, I settled. My body felt comfortable and my feet were actually toasty warm. Only my hands were cold. I didn’t get any euphoric zippiness from the plunge (aside from the thrill of having not died), but I did feel quite proud. Also, disappointed, because I hadn’t really felt the experience. In the moment, I was too rattled to enjoy myself. 

But then last night when I was writing this post, I found this exchange between me and my plunge-happy friend:

Me: Do you do anything special with your breathing to help stay relaxed/calm?
Him: I haven’t learned anything special. I just berate myself afterwards for not relaxing and breathing deeper.

So I wasn’t the only one! Even people who regularly plunge deal with regret issues. I decided to cut myself a break. That was my very first cold plunge and I had no idea what to expect. Now I know.

Next time, I’ll be calmer. 

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (1.17.22), pozole, no-knead sourdough bread, all the way under, the things people say, day one, polenta and greens.

After years without any real snow, last week’s little storm was such a delight. 

Prior to the snowfall, I braced myself, not because of the storm, but because of the accompanying brutal — and lengthy — cold. The low temps, more than anything, were what made the whole storm so exciting: it was gonna snow, and then it was gonna STAY. And in Virginia, where most snow seems to disappear within 24 hours, a sticking snow felt like a major luxury. 

So what were my preparations? Since we have a four-legged milk spigot out back (an opulence I still can’t really get over), there was no mad dash to the store to stock up on milk. Mainly, I just tried to enjoy the outdoors as much as possible. There was the trip to the warm springs, and then the day of the storm, we playing Ultimate for more than two hours: the cold weather combined with the electric excitement of the incoming storm and the impending hunkering down made me positively zany with energy. It felt so good to run and run and run. 

The snow day itself, I celebrated by baking Mohnstreuselkuchen, a German Poppy Seed Streusel Cake (from this book), and then walking several miles to my parents’ house to say hi and deliver some cake, and then back home again.

The rest of the week was slow and cozy.

Constant tending of the roaring hot fire.
Thick socks.
Candles and twinkle lights.
The dozing dog.
Desk work.
Cinnamon raisin toast and hot chocolate with coffee liquor and homemade marshmallows.

Evenings were spent with NY Times word games, our Rosie Project read-aloud (we’re on the third book), and lots of episodes of Only Murders in the Building. 

One evening we (he) racked the chai mead.

Another evening we (he) ground a box of pork fat and then the next day we (I) rendered it into lard. 

Saturday last, my husband and I went ice skating at a neighboring farm.

The homeowners had sent out an alert on Facebook — anyone could come, and they even had a couple pairs of women’s skate that people could borrow. I hadn’t been ice skating in years, and I felt wildly teeter-tottery at first.

When I realized my ankles and knees weren’t going to snap, I gained a smidge of confidence and momentum.

We skated and skated, and at the end I stretched out on the ice and stared up at the sky. It’s not every day I get to recline on top of a frozen pond. It felt strange and wondrous. 

The next day, we played Ultimate again. I was hesitant — 5 inches of snow, holey cleats, and freezing temps didn’t exactly sound like a bed of roses — but I went anyway.

By the end, my feet were bright red and painfully cold, and I could wring water out of my socks, but I was happy.

Getting outside is the best mood booster. (I know this, and yet couch potato is still my default. What ails me?)

It’s been almost two weeks since that snow storm and the ground is still covered. We’re heading into the third week of deep cold. Temps are forecasted to drop as low as -4°F/-20°C next week. 

Winter is here.

This same time, years previous: fermented lemon honey, four fun things, apple strudel, this is who we are, full house, doing stupid safely, just do it, on being burned at the stake (or not), GUATELMALA!!

The other day my sister-in-law stopped by with a box of crackers and a thank you note for the bottle of mead I’d given them for their anniversary. At first I thought the crackers were some sort of candy brittle — they were so dark and glossy — but no, she explained, they were homemade crackers. To eat with your cheese, she wrote in her note. 

When I finally got around to tasting them, I was, to put it bluntly, stunned. They were amazing. Nutty, seedy, salty, and wonderfully crispy, they tasted outrageously expensive, like what you might find in the cracker display at Murray’s Cheese Shop in NYC, probably priced at something gawdawful ridiculous like $15 for 2 ounces. 

Of course I text-requested the recipe, and then I got all the more excited. There was absolutely nothing to these bad boys. They were positively pure, with simple ingredients and a wicked-easy make. Simply toss the seeds together with some salt and cornstarch, add a bit of oil and some boiling water, soak for 10 minutes, and then spread into a pan and bake. 

So far, I’ve been munching these plain — they are splendidly addicting — but I imagine they would be fantastic if served:

• With cheese (obvs)
• Spread with cottage (or ricotta) cheese and drizzled with honey
• Topped with mashed avocado
• Crumbled over a salad
• With a smear of cream cheese and fruit preserves
• Topped with nut butter and sliced banana
• Tossed with dried fruit and chocolate chunks for a trail mix
• Added to granola

Seed Crackers
Adapted from the recipe my sister-in-law sent me.

The actual recipe is titled “Gluten-Free Seed Crackers (Norwegian Crispbread Knekkebrod),” which makes these sound fancy, nutritious, and exotic. 

The recipe calls for raw sunflower and pumpkin seeds, but my sister-in-law and I agree that’s neither here nor there. So far I’ve just made them with salt, but she said that next time she’s adding black pepper and garlic salt, and she has also subbed poppy seed for some of the other seeds. I kinda think these might be nice with some nori crumbled in and a splash of soy sauce, or maybe, going in a completely different direction, with some orange zest and cinnamon?

⅓ cup sesame seeds
½ cup flax seeds
½ cup pumpkin seeds
½ cup sunflower seeds
2 tablespoon chia seeds
⅓ cup cornstarch
½ teaspoon salt
3½ tablespoons oil
¾ cup boiling water
flaky salt, for sprinkling

Stir together all the dry ingredients. Add the boiling water and oil and mix well. Let the dough rest for 10 minutes.

Using an off-set spatula, spread the seed mixture onto a parchment paper-lined half sheet pan (13×18-inch). At first it will seem like there’s not enough seed mixture, but no worries — there’s plenty! Working slowly, spread the cracker dough over the bottom of the pan. (If needed, dip the spatula in water to prevent it from sticking to the dough.)

Bake the crackers at 275 degrees for 90-110 minutes, rotating the pan occasionally. The crackers should darken slightly — aim for whatever level of toastiness you want. 

Cool the crackers to room temp and then break into pieces. Store the crackers in an airtight container at room temperature, or bag and freeze.

***

Midway through writing this post, I had to break for a cracker snack, this time with peanut butter and honey, and OH MY WORD, PEOPLE. If you haven’t already fled to the kitchen to knock these out, what are you even doing?!

I’m serious. Get cracking.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (1.10.22), 6.4 magnitude, the Baer Family Gathering of 2019, boys in beds, sticky toffee pudding.