I tap open the weather app and see a bold red “flood warning” above the day’s hourly forecast. It’s not yet 7 AM—an hour at which the day usually hasn’t declared itself, weather-wise. I step outside into a cloudy, opaque world: fog and mist obscure the street, making the houses and trees and cars appear pale and shadowy.
(I realize I talk a lot about the weather here. Either I should consider a career as an amateur meteorologist, or it’s a reflection of the fact that when you live at the beach (and anywhere really), a sunny day versus a rainy one greatly colors your daily experience. Anyway. Roll with it, okay?)
The rain hadn’t begun when I went out for my morning paddleboard. The surface of the water was relatively calm, and I paddled easily past the NO WAKE sign that marks the opening of the marina. Usually I sight my movement using the row of pretty shingled beachfront houses, and then I turn right and make my way along the rocky jetty that juts out into the open water.
Today I couldn’t see anything around me except water and white, dense fog. It was eerily beautiful—at one point, a sailboat glided past me, ghostly and noiseless. A V of swallows dipped and swung through the mist in front of me, set against the sky like a watercolor painting.
It reminded me of the warnings you get when hiking Mount Washington and other high peaks—how quickly the weather can turn, how quickly clouds can descend, how you can (and will) get disoriented and turned around even though you could swear you have your bearings.
Without any visual cue to anchor my movement, I tried to continue in what felt like a straight line, and managed to reach the jetty. Three white egrets stood stock-still, regarding me silently. I turned and paddled back home; when I jumped in the water (as is my custom to wake myself up—better than an alarm clock!), the sound of the splash seemed to reverberate through an empty world.
As I sit and write this, the rain has started. It’s drumming heavily on the skylight above me. I’m considering the day ahead — and though I don’t relish a string of gray days, the first one tends to feel cozy.
I’m going to write and mail a few letters; make dinner (chicken over creamy cauliflower rice—made with chopped dried figs and coconut milk and spiced with turmeric, garlic, ginger—topped with toasted cashews); and potentially fold some laundry, but let’s not be too ambitious there.
I’m going to finish listening to an episode of On Being where Krista Tippet interviews the environmental journalist Michael McCarthy.
I’m going to re-read this beautiful poem by Tracy K. Smith:
I think of your hands all those years ago
Learning to maneuver a pencil, or struggling
To fasten a coat. The hands you’d sit on in class,
The nails you chewed absently. The clumsy authority
With which they’d sail in the air when they knew
You knew the answer. I think of them lying empty
At night, of the fingers wrangling something
From your nose, or buried in the cave of your ear.
All the things they did cautiously, pointedly,
Obedient to the suddenest whims. Their shames.
How they failed. What they won’t forget year after
year.
Or now. Resting on the wheel or the edge of your knee.
I am trying to decide what they feel when they wake
up
And discover my body is near. Before touch.
Pushing off the ledge of the easy quiet dancing
between us.
Rainy days pretty much require dessert, don’t you think? If we’re going to be curled up inside reading The Cat in the Hat and Paddington Bear, we might as well pop something in the oven. It just seems right.
Here’s a very quick and very addictive recipe for you—it’s quite a snackable dessert. Moreish, as they say.
If you’ve ever had and loved praline candy, a Southern confection made with brown sugar and butter and pecans, then you will absolutely like this.
These are, for lack of a better title, praline graham crackers. You cook together butter and brown sugar with a pinch of sea salt, add a little vanilla, then stir in nuts. You pour the mixture over graham crackers—at this point, it will look glossy and shiny and very edible. Which it is! But you’re not finished. You’ll then slide the pan into the oven to bake for about 10 minutes. Let it all cool—now it’ll look lighter in color with a thicker candy-like texture that’s similar to the chewiness of a block of fudge. You’ll then break it into pieces and try not to eat the entire pan.
Oh, and it freezes beautifully!
Traditionally praline uses just pecans, but I did a mix of chopped pecans and sesame seeds. I think next time I’ll try a version with only sesame seeds and a touch of tahini for a halva-esque twist.
Sesame Praline Graham Crackers
12 graham cracker sheets (cinnamon or honey)
1 cup (226g) unsalted butter
3/4 cup (160g) brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup roughly chopped pecans
1/2 cup sesame seeds
flaky sea salt, for sprinkling
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and place the graham crackers on it with no space between the crackers.
In a small saucepan, combine the butter and brown sugar. Cook until the butter melts, then bring to a boil over medium heat. Once it boils, cook (stirring constantly so it doesn’t burn) for exactly 2 minutes—no longer!
Remove from the heat and stir in the salt, vanilla, pecans, and sesame seeds.
Pour the mixture over the graham crackers and smooth into an even layer using a spatula.
Sprinkle with flaky sea salt.
Place the baking sheet in the oven and bake for about 10 minutes. Remove and let cool fully before breaking up into pieces.