December has sprung on us; nature seems to have other ideas about the season. Last year at this time we had our mittens on and wool sweaters under wool coats, but at present a long sleeve shirt and light jacket suffice. This morning before leaving the flat to take my son to school I grabbed my garden shears and a large shopping bag. I had it in my mind to do a bit of hairdressing in the park. My first client was a holly tree – it had an unruly headdress of red berries and prickly leaves bespattered with grey Parisian mud from a recent rain. I lopped off the forked, berry-laden ends, minding the prickles, and tossed them into my bag: three full circles around the tree, clip, chop, clip. If the tree did not look significantly neater after my handiwork, it at least felt lighter, I am sure. Next I chanced upon a young Spruce tree suffering from overgrowth at the midriff. I gave immediate attention to the silhouette problem and snipped using a Vidal Sassoon technique taught to me by a door-to-door coiffeuse I used to know. Her name was Françoise and she was into feathering. If that Spruce had a tongue, it would thank me for picking up where the gardeners failed to facilitate, for it has now obtained that hotly desired willowy look its deciduous friends achieve merely by dropping their leaves.
By the time we reached my son’s school I had a bag full of Christmas clippings. They are now sitting in vases in the garden awaiting tomorrow’s project: Boughs of Holly.
My plan is to invoke the spirit of winter: even if it is not yet cold, the days are shortening and natural light grows scarce. I’ve had it in mind for some time to put on the Opal Apron and make Emily Dickinson’s gingerbread. Today just might be the day.
This is my version of the Opal Apron. It has Virgin Mary motifs in oval opal spheres.
Here is the recipe written by Emily’s hand (and found on the website of the Emily Dickinson Museum)
1 quart flour
½ cup butter
½ cup cream
1 tablespoon ginger
1 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon salt
Make up with molasses
The editors of the book in which the recipe was published include these instructions: “Cream the butter and mix with lightly whipped cream. Sift dry ingredients together and combine with other ingredients. The dough is stiff and needs to be pressed into whatever pan you choose. A round or small square pan is suitable. The recipe also fits perfectly into a cast iron muffin pan, if you happen to have one which makes oval cakes. Bake at 350°F for 20-25 minutes. Guides at the Emily Dickinson House, who in 1975 individually experimented with the quantity of molasses, have generally agreed that a ‘cup or so’ is just about right.”
What I love about this recipe is the “make up with molasses” part. Emily was said to have been an expert bread maker and like many good cooks her gift, I gather, appealed more to the senses than science. What she seems to be saying is to add enough molasses to make the batter the right consistency. But how are we to know the proper consistency if we’ve never tried the recipe? Well, that’s Emily for you. Even in the kitchen she will leave you to ponder until you enter the Garden in the Brain and your Hempen Hands –uncover the key to the Scarlet Experiment –. Emily may shed a veil but beneath it lie others, perhaps countless others, each granting us an illumination of life’s mysteries, of the territories of existence.
If you try this recipe let me know how it turned out. I think I will ignore the editor’s additions and enter into the Mysteries of Molasses as Emily advocates. It promises to get sticky but the Opal Apron is there for hand wiping, spills, spattering and dish towel hanging.
Some people tie the Strings of their Lives (see poem below) accompanied in Hello Kitty vehicles.
And lastly, a word from Emily herself as pilfered from the Daily Dickinson blog:
Tie the Strings to my Life, My Lord,
Then, I am ready to go!
Just a look at the Horses —
Rapid! That will do!
Put me in on the firmest side —
So I shall never fall —
For we must ride to the Judgment —
And it’s partly, down Hill —
But never I mind the steeper —
And never I mind the Sea —
Held fast in Everlasting Race —
By my own Choice, and Thee —
Goodbye to the Life I used to live —
And the World I used to know —
And kiss the Hills, for me, just once —
Then — I am ready to go!