Fire & Ice

& the perfect no-bake snack for skating

From Karyl’s Cook & Tell Newspaper Column, February 10, 1977

At bedtime, I threw up my hands at the idea of stoking the woodstove every few hours and pulled the covers over my ears for a long, uninterrupted night’s sleep. I paid, as I knew I would, when I awoke to find the temperature in the kitchen a frosty 49◦. It would be a while before the house warmed up that morning, and it occurred to me that the place to be, instead, would be the skating pond at the schoolyard.

I waited for the school bus with my daughter, my skates dangling by their laces over my shoulders, and felt about twelve years old myself. On board, we had to relinquish our skates to the pile next to the driver for safety’s sake. When we pulled into the schoolyard, I was already well-stoked with the warmth generated by the bouncing, bubbling, small people on the bus.

Everybody somehow managed to extract their own skates from the pyramid and ran for the frozen pond. We sat on the logs that rim the pond and laced up as fast as we could to get in as much skating as possible before the bell rang. In a few moments I was off on flashing blades.

For the half-hour I skated with the children before school, I have to think it must have looked like something out of Currier and Ives. There we were, twenty-five children plus the principal and me, making like Ice Capades rejects, with the three-room schoolhouse on the rise behind us and snowy ledge sloping to the pond. Spills were not uncommon. I was helped to my feet frequently.

The bell rang and the ballet was over. Suddenly I was alone, slicing along the glassy surface all by myself. When I had had enough of graceless landings and my feet yearned for rest, I traded skates for boots and headed for the general store across the road. A cup of cocoa fueled me for the walk home.

About a mile later, rounding the bend where the cove pokes a finger at the road, I saw the sight that kindles in the heart the warmest fire of all—home. From the three chimneys of my rambling old house tumbled ribbons of smoke, curling, licking, swirling. This was the way to end a walk, all right, watching home grow larger as I came closer.

Inside it was as warm as my chimneys hinted it would be. A ride on the school bus, a fling on the ice, the sharing of neighborhood news over cocoa, and a mile’s hike down a country road had turned my escape from the cold into a discovery of warmth. On that Arctic morning, no one in Maine was warmer than I.

illustration by my mom, Karyl Bannister

Amie’s Headnotes

I made these hearty no-bake bars in my Arizona kitchen not long ago, the perfect snack for a skating session. Yes, we actually do skate in the desert, at the Ice Den where the Coyotes, our NHL team, practice. See? There’s hockey in the desert, too.

As I folded in the melted peanut butter and honey with the oats in the big red bowl that matches the red appliances on my counter, the wooden spoon softly tapped against the plastic. In the distance, an occasional snore from Max, our black Lab, while he slept by my desk in the once-breakfast nook, now writing studio. The soundtrack of home.

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No Bake Cranberry Oat Bars

Makes 12 servings

• Cooking spray

• 2 c. coarsely chopped graham crackers (about 8 graham cracker sheets)

• 2 c. uncooked quick-cooking oats

• ¾ c. dried cranberries

• ½ c. chopped dry-roasted peanuts

• ¼ c. unsweetened shredded coconut

• ¼ t. kosher salt

• ½ c. honey

• ¼ c. packed light brown sugar

• ½ c. creamy peanut butter

• ½ t. vanilla extract

Lightly coat an 8-inch square baking dish with cooking spray.

In a large heatproof bowl, stir chopped graham crackers, oats, cranberries, peanuts, coconut, and salt.

In a small saucepan over medium-high, bring honey and brown sugar to a boil, stirring constantly, and then remove from heat. Stir in peanut butter and vanilla until smooth.

Pour the honey-and-peanut butter mixture into the graham cracker mixture bowl and stir until coated.

Press the mixture into the prepared baking dish, chill for 30 minutes, and then cut into squares.

Looking for a particular recipe? You’ll find an ongoing index of printable Cook & Tell recipes here.

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Amie’s Endnotes

I got my first pair of ice skates on my eighth Christmas. Between skating sessions, they hung on the hook on the old barn door, blades gleaming. My skating at the school pond, cautious and wobbly at first, became more graceful with practice, and eventually I graduated to larger venues. My mother would fire up the old Volvo and drive me down the road to Beal’s Pond, across from where the Rendezvous Hotel once stood. She’d watch as I carved figure eights in the smooth icy perfection. She’d watch as I gradually mastered skating backward, foot-over-foot. And sometimes, she’d join me.

And now, when I pass by the old school pond—recently converted to a skating rink—it seems so much smaller than it was my grade school days. We were small people, then, as Mom wrote. Everything in our world was huge.

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What Readers Are Saying About Cook & Tell

What a strong character your mom was--she comes alive in these pieces and in your endnotes about her, Amie.

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