I don’t recall if I brought the idea of cookie baking day to
Antioch Community, but it’s possible because it was a tradition I grew up with.
Even after some of my older sisters got married and had their own homes, we
would get together on a day in December and bake tons of cookies.
At Antioch, Cookie-Baking Day became a yearly experience
that we all looked forward to, and once the date was established, we began
making lists—lists of the kinds of cookies and bars we would make, lists of who
would make what, and of course, lists of all the ingredients. We would get out
the recipes and figure out how much of the basics— flour, sugar, brown sugar,
butter—we needed, and then make a separate list of all the unusual ingredients: powdered sugar for icing, food dye to
color the icing, pecans, buttermilk, molasses, sprinkles, etc. The excitement
began as the lists were formed, and grew as we planned the shopping trip to the
grocery store, and then exploded as we traveled every aisle, picking up additional
items that somehow missed the list and adding them to the bulging grocery cart.
Gloria and I were usually the first ones in the kitchen on
cookie-baking morning. In fact, our excitement usually kicked in on Friday
evening as we stirred up dough to refrigerate so we could get some cookies in
the oven early Saturday morning. Gloria grew up in a series of foster care
homes, without the stability and security of warm family traditions and
memories. These shared experiences that we were establishing within our
community were especially meaningful to her. She craved these kinds of family
activities for her son, and her enthusiasm was contagious. Gloria, or Mimi as
she was affectionately dubbed by my youngest daughter, was good for several
batches of cookies; she was also the chief liaison between the bakers and the
children, as her heart was as soft as cookie dough when it came to the little
ones and their pleading eyes.
We each had our favorite or specialty that made the list
every year. I always made Aunt Mattie cookies, a soft sugar cookie that was
rolled out and cut into shapes. These were the ones we later decorated with
icing and those red, cinnamon hearts. We made all the usual Christmas
cookies—chocolate chip, peanut blossoms (the ones with Hershey’s Kisses on
top), molasses, ginger, oatmeal raisin—and then we tried new recipes which
sometimes became traditional—thumbprint (jelly in the centers), lemon squares,
pecan balls, monster cookies and others.
As the cookies began to come out of the oven, we spread them
on our huge dining room table, which had been covered with newspaper in
readiness. As soon as they were cooled, they were gently stacked with their
kind, to make room for the constant stream from the oven. After some burned
cookie disasters, we began to assign someone to be the oven keeper. I feel like
this might have been one of the not-so-much-a-cook adult members or maybe one
of the young volunteers which were always a part of our household. The kitchen
smelled heavenly, the smells wafting up the stairs and back the hall, all the
way to our family area at the end of the hallway. Very quickly, the fragrance
brought sample seekers, who were usually put off after maybe one little taste,
unless of course, they sidled up close to Gloria. She was good for a little
more generosity.
Another event that became an official partner to Cookie-Baking
day was the purchase of our Christmas tree. The men and all of the children,
even babies in snugglies, bundled up, if by chance it happened to be Mississippi
cold, and went in search of the perfect Antioch Christmas tree. This served
several purposes. It was a great time of bonding and warm fuzzies between the
men and the children. Children crave the attention of the males in their lives,
and this was a wonderful time for dads to hold the hands of their youngest and
share in the enthusiasm of the older children. Some of our children had single
moms, and so this time of male bonding was especially appreciated by the moms,
but also by the children who were drawn into this inclusive tradition. Another
purpose served was that the children were taken off location, giving the
cookie-bakers the luxury of working without little ones underfoot or older ones
begging to help.
Now lest you think that we were missing an opportunity to
include the children in this glorious activity, we had a plan. When the tree
seekers returned with the huge and perfect Christmas tree, which they promptly
and proudly placed in the stand in the designated spot in the living area, the
children were invited to approach the table, heaped with temptations beyond
their imaginations. We usually allowed them to have two or three cookies. They
couldn’t possibly be denied. And then, arming the ones who were old enough with
dull table knives and bowls of brightly colored icing, we made space at the
table for them to sit down and paint
the Aunt Mattie cookies. Even with some supervision from the grownups, the painting of the cookies was a messy,
chaotic time, but filled with laughter and silliness and affirmation and
warmth. It was worth every broken cookie and icing-encrusted child. Soon that
part of the table was covered with green stars, yellow bells, blue snowmen, red
trees, and all sorts of variations as imaginations ran wild and sprinkles and
colored sugar adorned or in some cases, coated, the cookie cutouts.
When the last cookie was taken from the oven, another
time-honored tradition began: the counting of the cookies. Starting at either
end of the table, each species of cookie was counted and the number recorded on
yet another list. When the counters reached the middle and the cookies had all
been accounted for, the numbers were added up and we had our official cookie
total. The number was written, with a sharpie, on a large piece of paper or
cardboard. Everyone involved—bakers and painters—gathered on the back side of
the table with the cookies spread before them, holding the number aloft, and an
official cookie-baking day photo was taken. As I remember it, the number of
cookies increased each year, setting record after record.
The next step in this glorious day was making up plates and
containers of cookies to give as gifts to neighbors and friends and coworkers.
The remaining cookies—hundreds—were placed into tins and plastic containers,
which were carefully marked as to the contents, and lined up on the counter,
where they served as dessert and snacks for weeks to come. Cleaning up was
always a communal endeavor, as the table was scrubbed, counters wiped and
re-wiped, baking bowls and utensils were washed and stacked to dry, and the
floor was mopped. A feeling of accomplishment and euphoria overcame tired feet
and weary bodies, as we sat down in the living room and remembered past cookie
baking days and agreed that this year
was the best yet.
Antioch Community no longer exists. We went our separate
ways, following the untimely death of my husband, Spencer. I’m not sure of the
other households, but I do know that our family has continued this tradition. Friends
of our family, and school friends of the children, have been drawn into our
circle of cookie-bakers, and the participants vary from year to year. Someone’s
Ipod is plugged into speakers, and O Holy
Night and Jingle Bells accompany
this festive occasion. Valued memories and deep feelings mingle with floured
hands and icing-covered knives, as cookies cover our dining room table, and
leave our house as gifts to neighbors and friends. We remember Gloria and her
commitment and excitement to this annual activity, and about Aunt Joanie and
her somewhat reluctant start followed with equal enthusiasm. We look at old
pictures where we were proudly holding up our signs with the number of cookies
from that year, clowning and laughing around the table heaped with our creations.
Cookie-baking day is definitely one of our warmest and most memorable community
treasures.
These photographs are from our cookie baking life in Lancaster; unfortunately, all the Antioch Cookie-Baking Day pictures are from before the digital age and are confined to photo albums.
Nancy Perkins
November 2012
