Saturday felt like the first real day of summer. Full of projects and people, it was the sort of day that meandered and stretched, leaving us enough time to get things done, but not so much time that we were tempted to throw in the towel before it was over.

It started with a three-mile run, just me and my husband, followed by a quick trip to town to deposit our little black car at the recycling center (my husband dumped our old van there the day before) (yes, for a few weeks there, our place looked like a used car lot). On my way to retrieve my husband from the dump, I dropped my older daughter off at the farm. She would spend the whole morning there, working and riding, and getting sunburned.

Right after breakfast, a “fend for yourself” affair (I had two bran muffins with butter), we jumped into some kitchen projects. My younger daughter made meringue cookies, I made a fig-walnut couronne, and my younger son, with my husband’s help, made two loaves of Cuban bread. Melissa washed dishes. While I cooked lunch, my older son and I listened to Wait! Wait! Don’t Tell Me!, vigorously shushing anyone who walked into the kitchen and dared speak.

After lunch—sausage, spinach, and black lentils over brown rice—one of my older son’s friends came over. The two of them decided to have an apple pie-baking competition and jetted off to town for the ingredients. Melissa walked over to my sister-in-law’s house for a visit. I lounged about for a bit—coffee, chocolate, a thick slice of couronne—before finally hoisting my butt off the couch and heading outside where my husband and some of the kids were building a dog kennel under the clubhouse (and my younger son had the chance to drive the truck by himself, o the thrills).

Seeing as it was so sunny and warm, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to do a little weeding. One thing led to another and soon my by-chance foray into the strawberry patch had exploded into a full-scale gardening project. The bakers were instructed to put their apple pies on hold, and Melissa, back from her visit, was ousted from her reading chair. Rototilling, weeding, mulching, planting, plus some visiting, even—we did it all.

After several hours, I called it quits, much to the minions’ relief. The kids put away the tools, and we took turns washing our feet in the bathtub. My older son tossed a couple packs of hot dogs on the grill, and I pulled leftover potato salad from the fridge. My younger son sliced a loaf of his fresh bread. My younger daughter arranged her meringue cookies in glass mugs, layering them with strawberries from the freezer and whipped cream. With the leftovers, she made a special “cake” and stuck a candle in it in honor of my dad who was celebrating his birthday out of state (Happy Birthday, Dad!). We ate our food on the deck, looking out over the valley and luxuriating in our accomplishments and exhuastion.

After supper my older son and his friend went to see a play and the rest of us got showers and cleaned up the kitchen. My older daughter shaved her horse. I read to the two younger kids before shooing them out the door (they had decided to camp out in the dog kennel). I made popcorn, and my older daughter and I binged Parks and Rec while my husband worked on taxes.

This same time, years later: the quotidian (3.28.16), seven-minute egg, our oaf, the visit, on being together, warts and all, breaking the habit.

This same time, years previous: the Tuesday boost, maple pecan scones, a list, the quotidian (3.26.12), a spat, fatira, brandied-bacony roast chicken.

The two younger children and I have been zipping through season two of The Great British Baking Show (but on Netflix). Evenings that the older children are off doing their big-kid things, like youth group or biology lessons, the younger two kids blitz the house and get showers, and then we snuggle up together on the couch to salivate our way through another episode.

Last week I got inspired by one of the technical challenges. I’m not normally compelled to copy the show’s recipes—many times they are way too involved and frumpy, and I am not inclined toward fussy decoration of any kind—but as soon as I saw the apricot couronne, a glorious twisted crown stuffed with dried apricots, raisins, walnuts, and orange zest, I simply had to make it.

This wreath is traditionally made for Christmas, but it’s simple enough to be made just for anyhow. I made it on a subdued Saturday afternoon, while a freak snow fell. I hoarded the leftovers, eating them for breakfast over the course of several days.

I have plans to make another one, but this time with figs instead of apricots. Or maybe some of both? I’m not sure yet.

Apricot Couronne
Adapted from Paul Hollywood’s recipe, showcased on Season Two of The Great British Baking Show.

Paul uses metric system measurements, so I did, too. Feel free to convert to the US Customary Standard Stupid System, if you wish. Or better yet, buy a scale. I love my scale.

Update on March 25, 2017: Just made a couronne using dried figs in place of the apricots. It is exceedingly delicious.

Do ahead:
An hour before starting (or the night before, if you’re better than me at planning ahead), put the chopped apricots in a bowl and cover with the orange juice to soak.

for the bread:
250 grams bread flour
5 grams salt
8 grams yeast
50 grams butter, at room temperature
135 ml milk, warmed
1 egg, lightly beaten

Measure all the ingredients into the bowl of a stand mixer, and mix on medium speed for about six minutes. (Or stir with a spoon and knead by hand, whatever.) Place the dough in a greased bowl, cover with plastic, and set in a warm place to rise until double.

for the filling:
120 grams dried apricots, chopped
¼ – 1/3 cup orange juice
90 grams butter, at room temperature
70 grams brown sugar
35 grams flour
60 grams raisins
65 grams walnuts, chopped
zest from an orange

Drain the apricots, reserving the juice for the glaze.

With a wooden spoon, stir together the butter and sugar. Add the flour, zest, raisins, walnuts, and apricots and stir to combine.

Roll the dough into a rectangle. Spread with the filling and roll up as you would sweet rolls. Cut the roll in half, lengthwise, leaving a couple inches of one end intact. When you’re done, the dough roll should resemble a pair of pants for a really skinny, long-legged person. Twist the dough legs together, keeping the cut sides facing up as much as possible.

Shape the twist into a wreath, weaving and pinching the ends together. Transfer the wreath to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Cover with plastic and let rest for 30-45 minutes.

Bake at 375 degrees for 25-35 minutes. If the dough darkens too quickly, tent with foil partway through.

to finish:
apricot jam (I used peach), slightly warmed
confectioners’ sugar thinned with the reserved orange juice to make a drizzle-able glaze
slivered almonds

As soon as the wreath finishes baking, brush the top and sides with the apricot jam. Remove any blistered raisins. Allow the wreath to cool to room temperature before drizzling with glaze and then sprinkling with slivered almonds.

This same time, years previous: lambs, the quotidian (3.23.15), the pigpen, the quotidian (3.24.14), of a moody Sunday, the nieces, sour crumb cherry pie, caramelized onions.