Routines and Rituals
Conifers and snowdrops | Cinnamon bun muffins
Keeping my little home filled with warm cosy smells is one of the main tenets of my own Winter Canon. Regular, outdoor walks are another. Both underpin a weekly structure filled with endless familiarity and as little change as possible.
Routine is a must for me. Without the anchor of it, panic ensues and one (even small) deviation in a plan of action for the day can cause a freeze response and an abandonment of all further plans for that day. How I have always longed to be one of those easy-going people who seem to be able to go with the flow of life’s hiccups, so much so that it barely registers in their consciousness. But I’m not.
In my inner world - and therefore unavoidably in my outer world - there are lots of musts and rules which are set in stone. Change is something to steer clear of at all costs; surprises are outlawed and daily repetition is nirvana, or at the very least: stabilising. Spontaneity is my nemesis and planning is key.
Interestingly, I’ve found over the years that being out in nature is a safe space where I feel able to let go of my own internal rules a little more, to relax the structures. Or perhaps I should say that nature allows me to feel safe enough to do so. To find a winding path in the woods that I didn’t originally see or plan when I was scouring the map for a route, but to feel able to walk down it anyway. My own Autistic brain allows these little caveats in nature when it would not be able to tolerate them in another setting. Another reason why nature is my friend.
On one such February walk, slightly away from the path I had originally planned to explore, a bright patch of snowdrops caught my eye in the mulchy leaf litter. It wasn’t a carpet of white, more of a little scattering, where the gnarled trunks and branches of what looked like an ancient woodland, buffered a plantation of conifers. It was enough to make me stop and take a short rest on the remains of a felled pine.
Although I know that conifers are evergreen, they are archived in my mind as solely winter trees, just as snowdrops are the first visible signs of spring. Everything has its special compartment, which is why February can feel such a muddle. It’s not quite one season or another, a mixture of mercurial elements coming together. February reminds me of an old film photograph with a double exposure: artful and intriguingly beautiful but difficult to focus on one particular detail. It takes a bit of reminding, but eventually I concede that not everything can be classified neatly.
Back inside, my weekly winter bake took the shape of cinnamon bun muffins. Baking is one of my favourite weekly rituals. And if there’s spice involved, even better. It took every ounce of self-discipline not to wolf the muffins down when they were still hot, straight from the oven. I managed a half hour wait, so that they were still warm and would melt a scoop of ice cream nestled next to them.
The previous week, I had experimented with making ice cream for the first time, after re-discovering an ice-cream maker that had been a free gift with a kitchen appliance that I had bought 16 years ago. It was still pristine in its box and wrapper, fresh from the loft, where I had forgotten about it all these years. I made apple, maple and whisky ice cream, which was an adaptation from Diana Henry’s apple, maple & bourbon version1. I didn’t have any bourbon, so I used a very peaty Islay Single Malt (which I already had) and this gave a delicious, smoky depth to the sweetness of the apple and maple. Putting the ice-cream on the cinnamon buns was a seriously decadent treat.
I find comfort in this routine of baking and I’m not just talking about the food. The act of getting the equipment, preparing tins, gathering ingredients on the counter, working out the steps, following the instructions and creating something delicious is a soothing process. Unlike cooking, baking demands precision; it’s these clear parameters which feel so comfortable to me.
https://www.waitrose.com/content/waitrose/en/home/recipes/recipe_directory/a/diana-henry-s-applemaplebourbonicecream.html