Homemade turkey Sloppy Joe on cheddar-scallion biscuit. I need my strength to sweep the snow off my car.
I don’t get people who hate winter. We’re talking about a three-month, no-apology excuse to burrow under your faux fur throw from Target, fall asleep, then wake up and make luscious food.
Crab apple liqueur (sugar, apples, and vodka). I need my strength to…uh…pull off my snow boots.
Steeped, ready, gazing out over the wilds of suburban New Jersey, and plotting its first offensive.
A pound cake I made the other night. While it was still hot from the oven I docked the top and poured lots of the extra honeysuckle syrup I made last June over it. Sumptuous.
When you want to work up extra stamina for lazing around and feeding, I recommend exploring a landscape. It will be different—more stark, more bare-bones—than at any other time of year.
Huber Woods, Navesink, NJ. Sycamore and shadows, east pasture.
Trees and fence, Navesink.
West pasture, Navesink.
Ancient felled sycamore and sky, Navesink.
I came across several old, tiny wooden buildings in the woods. They were labeled 1930, 1931, etc. I wondered if old years are left in the woods of Navesink, to enter just by opening their doors, like the wardrobe into Narnia. What if they are?
1931, with reflections of the trees and sky—and ripped curtains.
Our lake finally froze over. Hockey blades, waiting for their owners to come off the ice. Grownup owners, no less. I love this town.
