This place where I live makes me tough. It makes me push past my fear repeatedly with a desire to lead a normal life, a desire to not be limited by bad roads, animals, accidents.

I have a perfect walking trail right behind my house. On days when the weather cooperates, I happily head out for an hour, knowing that my mind will be clearer and I’ll be more relaxed when I come back. My walks took a sinister turn a few years ago when my neighbors’ dogs decided I was threatening to their owners as I went to walk around them.  Both of the dogs bit me, hard, and I limped home with tears running down my face. I was injured first of all, but I was most upset that my sense of peace had been shattered. It took me awhile to go out alone for a walk. At first, I carried a stick, or sometimes rocks, weapons in both of my hands. Finally, I felt comfortable enough to carry only mace, first clutched into my tight fist at the ready, then tucked into a jacket pocket. I felt comfortable again. This weekend, from inside, we spotted a large coyote standing on the trail and I felt a little crack in my rebuilt confidence. I debated whether to go out today.

But I did. I had to. If we let fear rule our lives, no one would enjoy anything. Nothing would get done. My walk today was a little victory. I clutched my bright orange whistle in my left gloved hand and had the mace readily accessible to the right. I felt alive in the damp, cool air and dull light of January.

In early December, I had a bit of a revelation. I hadn’t baked since the November farmers’ market, and I was starting my holiday truffle extravaganza. Brainstorming flavors and garnishes had started weeks earlier, but it wasn’t until I was actually in the kitchen that I felt entirely at peace. Happy to be back in the kitchen, making, happy to be working towards a goal, and happy to be working for myself.

This was a huge discovery because I’ve always enjoyed doing lots of different things (those of you who have known me for awhile might have taken out some of my origami cranes to hang on your tree this year!). Sometimes I still wonder what would’ve happened if I had followed my initial path of music or continued to make jewelry. I was not a naturally talented musician (and even verged on tone-deaf to some degree), and I really had to work at being an oboist. And it pains me to admit it, but I don’t think I’m a natural artist, either. I love making books (and I loved making jewelry), but everything I craft is too analytical and almost stubborn in demeanor. I couldn’t quite express myself in any of these pursuits.

Somehow, baking seems to be the most natural of all the things I have tried. I never took making sweets seriously because it was such an easy part of my life. I’m starting to come to terms with the baking thing and even expand the idea of it this year. I see 2012 as a challenging and fulfilling year for me once I’m ready to push full steam ahead.

I got the urge to make latkes–my dad is Jewish, although this meal was generally the extent of our Hanukkah traditions while I was young. I followed this fabulous recipe and managed to utilize my CSA parsnips which would have languished in the veggie drawer for some time. For a New Year’s Eve get together with friends, I made trifle for dessert. My mom makes this nearly every year for Christmas Eve, so I had been scheming on how to fit it into the holiday festivities, preferably when other people could also enjoy it (and it wasn’t just us eating an entire bowl of dessert). Although I took some liberties with fruit choice and construction, the foundation of a pillowy hot milk sponge cake was my mom’s time-honored recipe. It tasted like home.

So, to those loved ones who I wasn’t able to see this year, you were with me anyway, despite the many miles of separation–I hope to see you soon.  I wish a bright and happy 2012 to all.

In my memory, I associate family members with specific cookies that they’ve made over the years. My mom’s steady contribution to the cookie plate is a chocolate chip oatmeal cookie, her attempt to make a sweet virtuous with the addition of oats and whole wheat flour. In the past she made tiny butter cookies, squeezed into shapes of trees and Santas with the cookie press, then sprinkled with coarse colored sugars and round sprinkles. There were also thumbprints, soft, buttery balls dunked into egg white, then coarsely chopped walnuts, and finished with my small thumb making a dent in the center. They were always requested by my aunt Barb, and though I loved the cookies filled with jam, my aunt preferred them filled with frosting. Mom made frosting in pastel colors, flavored with extracts to make two or three flavors (usually orange, lemon, and lime) that we carefully dolloped onto the cookies, where it set into a crusty, sugary lump.

My grandfather’s wife, Roselee, also made thumbprints, but only the jam-filled ones, and snickerdoodles, whose silly and seemingly made-up name appealed to me. The snickerdoodles reminded me of cinnamon toast, which I loved, and the fact that I only saw them once a year at Roselee’s house made me covet them even more. My aunt Barb made peanut butter blossoms, peanut butter cookie balls with an entire Hershey’s kiss pressed into the center. These were my very favorite cookies when I was young; I would carefully eat around the kiss, then savor the inner bites of soft chocolate and peanut butter mingled together.

My other favorite cookie was a sugar cake that my grandmother made. These were a simple, down-home cookie, soft and vanilla-y with a topping of colored sugar or cinnamon sugar. After she passed away, no one made them anymore, namely because shortening was an important ingredient. I decided to bring them back last year, changing the shortening to butter and oil and substituting buttermilk for the milk. I was so happy to bring them to my family and to share memories of Mama while enjoying the soft, cakey cookies. My husband couldn’t understand the appeal of such a seemingly bland sweet, but each family has its own traditions and foods, and they don’t necessarily make sense to others. And certainly, each family has its own cookie traditions, which is what made it so hard for me to choose only a couple this year. To start with, I’m making my aunt’s peanut butter blossoms, and I’m trying a new cookie from Dan Lepard that I’ve been eyeing ever since I saw a photo of the craggy sticks. Lepard’s bonfire cookies are filled with warm spices, perfect for a cold Vermont day, and perfect to warm my heart with memories of family and friends this Christmas.

Thanks to everyone who placed orders! Enjoy your sweets and have a happy holiday!

This year, I feel slightly more prepared for the season. I am trying to think about presents pre-emptively, order things, and have cute packaging on hand before I get busy making candies, truffles, and cookies for other people. One of my favorite things to do is to check out the gift guides: best books of 2011, best kitchen gadgets–really any sort of “best of” list instantly grabs my attention. I like looking at all of these things, but I don’t imagine actually buying any of them. The guide that I am most inspired by so far is the one at Design Sponge for gifts made with your hands. And while they mention all the usual suspects, the guide could have been subtitled gifts made with your heart. It wasn’t about invoking your inner Martha Stewart, but about really thinking about the recipient of your gift. What would she like? What would make her life better/easier/calmer? It made me think about how often we don’t do that for people, even our close family and spouse. We get so wrapped up in finding the perfect thing that we forget why we’re buying it in the first place.

So, maybe the true gift to put on your list this year is compassion. Imagine yourself in someone else’s mental space for a minute. Maybe this person has been especially grouchy or happy or angry this year. There’s probably a good reason even if it’s not something that you can rationalize. Don’t judge her, or tell her to snap out of it; instead, be accepting of where she is. And then cook her dinner or make her bath salts while keeping in mind why she’s so important to you. Let everything else go.

Our first disappointment of the fall was the apples. Our apples were beautiful this year, a good year for them, everyone told us. We were eagerly watching the variety called Goldrush, a tart apple that is perfect for winter storage, and wondering about the ideal time to pick. One morning we noticed the trees no longer bent under the weight of the fruit and far less of the green-gold orbs dangled from the branches. Matt went out to discover that deer had decimated the apples, taking leaves and tender shoots with them as well. He was so forlorn, picking the untouched fruit that was only one third of what we had before. My dreams of applesauce, apple jelly, and dried apple rings burst when I saw the one small basket that held our harvest.

Now there is snow on the ground from the two times it snowed last week. Bright leaves scatter over the melting snow as if they’re trying to take their season back. I’m rooting for fall to prevail for a few more precious weeks.

We got home the other night after dark and I stopped suddenly after getting out of the car. What was that sound? My husband laughed and reminded me it was just the leaves. I’m sure I will forget until next year when I wonder why the leaves seem so alive. I’ll delight in them again even though it means winter draws close.

If you live near Bennington, VT, please come visit me at the farmers’ market on Saturdays and Tuesdays until the end of October. I’ll be standing out there shivering unless someone stops by to chat with me! Find me on twitter for updates on what I’ll be bringing.