Snickerdoodles in a Bathtub

I surveyed my sled options. I could ride one of two wooden pallets, the upside-down hood of a car, your typical saucer sled, a tire, a real toboggan intended for the purpose, or in a bathtub.

It had already been a weird day.

First of all, it was Sunday, and we were going sledding on a friend's farm instead of going to church all day. Second, my grandparents had driven my brother and me, and on account of how my grandfather had to ride the brake pedal on the snowy roads like he was playing the piano, I threw up in the back seat in Grandma's towels. Third, we had never been to this particular farm before, and I didn't know these people very well.

Arriving at the farmhouse, we bundled into our overstuffed winter gear--the extra socks, the mittens, and Mom's admonitions--and stepped out onto the porch to survey the landscape. I was afraid that the throwing up would disqualify me from sledding, but escaping the rolling piano concert had done me a world of good. Down the hill, the old John Deere '50 was idling, and a bunch of kids were already there. Kim, our hostess in blonde pigtails, waved us down. "Pick a sled!" she hollered.

Her husband was busy inspecting the chain system that connected each of the sleds into a train and the train to the tractor. Kim's kids and their friends were lying stomach-down on the pallets. The littlest kids needed the saucers, so I chose the tire, and my brother got on the toboggan sled at the end of the train. Kim disappeared for a moment and came back with an armful of straw, which she dumped into the bathtub. "Everybody on?" She gave us all a big grin and then hopped into the bathtub, propping her snow boots on either side of the faucet. "Let's go!" she called to her husband, and he revved the tractor. There was a little jerk as he started slow and then gained speed, heading out to the empty, snowy fields.

It was the sled ride that was never interrupted by a long trudge back up the hill. He drove all over the hills of those fields, whipping the tail of the sled train out behind the tractor. If a kid rolled off, he stopped, and we all traded sleds and went right back at it. The whole time, Kim laid back in her bathtub at the head of the train, straw flying everywhere, having as much fun as we were.

When I thought we were probably heading for home, the tractor took off in a different direction, pulling the whole train up to another farmhouse. Kids piled off, and we were herded into the house, where I suddenly realized how cold I had gotten. A wood-burning stove was roaring in the kitchen, and someone's grandma--Kim's mom, it turned out--was making food for us. It hadn't occurred to me that someone would feed us.

We made a mountain of wet snow gear in front of the woodstove and packed ourselves around the table. Supper was wonderful, I'm sure, but what I remember were the Snickerdoodles. Kim and her mom were busy at the stove, whipping out trays of warm, buttery cookies covered in cinnamon and sugar. Then, without waiting for them to cool, they dumped them straight into a tub and started passing that tub around the table of kids. The cookies were all misshapen, piled on each other while warm, with a hint of salt. The kitchen was roasting and hung with golden curtains, and the world outside the windows was turning dark. I thought I was in heaven.

Kim noticed that I was a particular fan of the Snickerdoodles, and she made sure I got all I wanted. I didn't typically eat a whole lot, but those cookies were magic--I couldn't stop eating them, and they never made me sick.

When it was time to go, we all struggled back into our snow gear, full of cookies. My mittens were almost too hot from the wood stove, and the kitchen was so blazing warm that none of us zipped up our puffy coats. When we stepped outside, most of us found our rides arriving to take us home in the lowering blue, snowy evening. It was a mercy that our parents were there to drive us home--my stomach wouldn't have survived another ride in my grandparent's back seat.

To this day, I believe Snickerdoodles are best eaten warm on cold, winter evenings. And if you happen to enjoy them having just climbed out of a bathtub that was recently flying over the snow, you've just had a little taste of magic.