Hitting The Winter Wall
And a Bread Recipe That Will Keep Your Spring Hopes Alive
This week I hit The Winter Wall.
If you live anywhere that experiences the four seasons in any form or fashion, you might have history with this type of collision. It happens after months of layering tank tops under long sleeved shirts under sweaters; bundling up in hats, gloves, and scarves just to go out and get the mail; shivering behind the steering wheel while you wait for the icy draft blasting through the vents to turn warm; and listening to the sound of stiff snow, dead grass, and cold earth crunching under your boots everywhere you go.
And then you wake up one morning and you say out loud, “Okay, I’m done now.”
I know, I know. You have to enjoy the season you’re in, right? At least that’s what all the “half glass full” folks like to say. Savor the moment. And you’re right. I should.
Truth is, I’m not even a “winter hater.” I love the winter. I love snow blanketed treetops and soups that warm me from the inside out and cozy evenings snuggled under blankets while the whistle of a brisk wind blows outside the window. A year would not seem complete without those moments of the season.
But sometimes, I’m just over it. It just starts to all feel a bit stale, and I need something different. I’m ready to feel the sun’s rays on more than the small circle of my face that I dare to leave exposed to the elements. I’m ready to sweat. I’m ready to wear as little clothing as is socially acceptable because it’s so gosh darn scalding outside.
Honestly, though, I might just be unfairly taking things out on winter because I don’t think this is actually about weather. The facts are that I’m in a dormant season in life right now. I’ve got a few dreams that are nestled under a hard-frosted soil and I’m eager for spring to arrive so I can see if they will sprout to life. (If you’d like to hear me talk about one such dream that I have—or you’re a writer who loves all things about writing—you can click here to check out the newest podcast project, Word by Word, that I’m a part of.)
It’s the waiting that’s hard. My mind imagines my dreams in all states of their development or destruction depending upon the time of day or my present mood.
If it’s in the middle of the night, I usually envision my seedling dreams getting desiccated by the parching, cold earth and then chomped down into the skeletal guts of subterranean insects. And I cry into my pillow and try to recite woeful lines from Shakespeare into the cruel night, but I fail miserably even at that.
But if it’s daytime and the sun happens to break free from the clouds outside my kitchen window that morning, I might imagine my seedling sprouting strong green shoots in that earthy darkness, then watch it pushing, tunneling, reaching for a break in the ground and the light and air that will sustain it into full blossom. “It’s gonna be great,” I tell myself as I bustle through the day’s activities. “Everything’s going to work out beautifully.”
Both images are a lie, of course. I can’t know what’s happening outside of my span of vision. All I can know is right here in front of me. And maybe that’s when my dissatisfaction with winter stirs up. It’s all dirty whites and brittle browns everywhere I look. Those aren’t traditionally the colors of hope. I want vibrant greens, blushing pinks, audacious violets whose presence seem to reverberate “Yes, yes, yes!”
Instead, these muddy colors of winter tell me, “Wait.”
So that’s what I do. And sometimes I’m good at waiting.
But this time, I’m not.
Right now, the last thing I feel like doing is cooking or cleaning or being productive. I want to sleep and wear clothes with no waistbands and eat nutritionally-depraved snacks that only require me to tear open a bag. Then, I do all these things and they just make the whole waiting experience even worse. So I dust off the pretzel crumbs, put on something with a zipper, and break out the pots and pans.
Yesterday was one such day. I woke in the pits of despair but by evening, I was standing at the kitchen counter with my youngest babe, mixing batters and whizzing up sauces in the Vitamix and everything felt—not awful, not wonderful—but enough. Because sometimes that’s all we have to go on. The feel of a rubber spatula in hand, the smell of savory spices wafting from the oven, the taste of lemon juice on your fingers, the crooning of Ella Fitzgerald from the record player—they’re all indicators that we are still moving and making even when other parts of us are waiting and wanting. And that’s enough.
Friend, I hope that no matter what season you find yourself in today, “enough” is within your grasp. Because believe it or not, it’ll keep us going.
And if you, too, have hit The Winter Wall recently and need a little vision-turned-reality recipe to remind you that spring and its flavors are on their way, then check out the link below!
Lemon Blueberry Loaf
Last night when I was trying to cook my way out of my Waiting Blues, my youngest babe sashayed into the kitchen and in a voice teetering on being babyish, asked “Mama, can you help me make something sweet for us to have after dinner tonight?”
Inside, I moaned.
I was in the middle of doing a heavy session of culinary therapy, making a pan of my Heart Hugging Enchiladas, and the last thing I wanted was company. But she’s seven and so sweet it makes my soul ache that I said, “Go grab a cookbook off my shelf and see if you can find a recipe that sounds good.” She slid off the bar stool, scampered into the dining room, and picked up my battered copy of Isa Moskowitz’s Isa Does It.
This isn’t the first time I’ve referenced this cookbook and it won’t be my last because it’s an absolute gem. And the recipe my daughter chose as her “something sweet” for last night is one of the reasons this cookbook sparkles. The fresh flavors in this Lemon Blueberry Loaf make it light and decadent at the same time, not to mention it’s a quick fix—a little lemon squeezing, batter stirring, and pan sliding into the oven, and you’ll have “spring come early” in your kitchen. Give it a try!
Oh, Maile, I am feeling the winter wall - made all the worse by the teases of spring we had earlier in the month. Thank you so much for your words today!
Yes to enough is enough to keep us going