I like to call the Steuben Valley in upstate New York the Ancestral Homeland. My parents still live in the 200-plus-year old farmhouse where I grew up. My dad is the son of Arthur and Christine McGhee, who owned a beautiful dairy farm in Millerton, New York. My dad knows his cattle. In the past few years, this same Steuben Valley, still home to many working farms, has welcomed the Amish, who find the vast expanse of land there very inviting.

Last weekend, I headed up there with my husband and three children to spend a few days in the homeland. We dined at Chesterfields (my favorite Utica restaurant), and we had breakfast at Cindy’s Diner. We went north one afternoon and saw a wind farm and watched some Amish putting a new roof on a house.

But the highlight was the visit to the Lowville Cheese Store, where I purchased many fine cheeses:  http://lowvillecheesestore.blogspot.com/.

It was in this cheese shop that I spotted a wide leather belt, just the kind I like to wear. It beckoned me. I took it off the hook and held it around my waist. I liked it. Checked the price. $20. “What do you think of this, Dad?” I said. He nodded, his way of telling me it was a good buy. So I purchased it, along with the cheese. We got back in the car and were heading south again to the Steuben Valley. I pulled out the belt to admire my find. I looked at the tag. It said “neck strap.” I wondered why my belt was called a neck strap. And then it dawned on me; that special metal loop, which I quite admired, was for tethering a cow. My belt was a cow’s neck strap.

“Dad, I just purchased a cow’s neck strap,” I said. “It’s irrefutable. The tag says Neck Strap.” My dad and I laughed and laughed and laughed. We are country folk, but we didn’t know a cow’s neck strap from a thick leather belt. They didn’t use these when he farmed.

“It’s a damn fine belt,” he said. And I agreed. I’ll wear this neck strap with pride, remembering that glorious trip to Lowville, New York,  remembering the wind farm and the Amish, but more than anything, remembering my dad, his smile, his laugh, and how much he means to me.

I love you, Dad.

In the fall of 2013, I wrote a pep talk for NaNoWriMo titled Write for Your Life, and I talked about honoring your imagination and writing every day; I talked about how the words had to move through you and out into the world—that the world was at your fingertips, literally, and how when I wrote my first book, my fingers were on fire. What I didn’t say in that pep talk was that I had started a book in July of 2012 and that nothing was happening with it, that I was one of the ones who needed to hear those words. I was one of the ones who was avoiding my laptop and getting scared of it, and so I was writing that pep talk for all Wrimos, including myself.

But I still didn’t begin writing again . . .

Not until a month or so after I did that Pep Talk, when I had a dream; in my dream I was looking out the window of my bedroom, and my body temperature was low, and the end of the world was coming. My fingernails had turned blue, and they were beginning to flake off. I picked at them, and underneath the blue nails were lighter blue nails, nails that were getting a little more oxygen. This dream scared me. If I didn’t start writing again, a part of me would die; that was clear. I took this dream very seriously, and the very next day I booked a hotel room for a week to start to get my story out. And I promised myself I would write every day that I traveled on NJ Transit.

When I left the hotel, I had fifteen new pages, in a new voice, and I began to write on every train ride. I had to explain to my friends that I had committed to writing; I had to go public because I wouldn’t be talking to anyone on the train anymore, and in a way that also helped me commit. I’d read in Brainpickings that it can take fifty days to form a new habit, and it was hard at first. But then I’d remember the dream and it was easy, because I didn’t want to die.

It’s over a year later now, and I’m on the third revision of that story. I just got new notes from my agent, complete with pretty red ribbon.

I don’t know what’s going to happen to my story, and in a lot of ways it doesn’t matter. Because I have it now; I have it because I wrote every day. I have it because I was afraid and I had to be brave. And I am full of wonder when I see my pile of pages; I am full of wonder that I got the words out.

I believe in dreams, the scary ones and the not scary ones. And I believe in the magic of this world.

Twenty-three years ago, when I started working at HarperCollins (as Holly McGhee) I was given a plant by one of my first bosses, William Shinker. The plant was a dinner-plate Ming Aurelia, and it represented a new beginning to me—I’d left a job that didn’t challenge me anymore, fallen in love with James Marshall’s Old Mother Hubbard and her Wonderful Dog,  and dived into children’s books, with no experience whatsoever—I was facing a big unknown.

The plant had five stalks, each one about a foot tall, and I set it next to me on the desk. Slowly but surely the leaves began to turn yellow and die, and the stalks went next, until I was down to just one survivor. At this point I was very attached to the plant, and I was worried; it had begun to represent my future—and I refused to let that last stalk die as it sat there next to me. So I asked my cousin Linda Yang, a gardening expert, for help. She came to my office and she pulled the florist’s mulch off the top, and she said the plant needed air, the mulch was suffocating it. Then she took a fork and started digging around through the soil, aerating it.

Not too long later, her job done, she packed up her things and left. Over the next month, my surviving stalk began to grow and thrive. I don’t know if it missed the other four stalks it had shared the pot with, but I know it was happy to be alive. And my Ming is still happy to be alive, having moved to larger pots many times over the years.

She is a survivor, and I still like to wash her leaves with milk water and aerate her soil. My Ming is older by far than my oldest child; and she is a living, breathing reminder of how fragile life is and how important it is to show the ones we love that we love them.

That’s what Christmastime is for me, a time to remember those we love and honor them with gifts; a time to think about those who have been along on the journey, for the light parts and the dark parts—a time to remember those we’ve lost and those we’ve nearly lost, and to cherish those who are with us.

M E R R Y  C H R I S T M A S!

Well, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I boarded the American Eagle flight from Newark on Wednesday, September 10. I’m not a big traveller for one thing, and I’d never been to Kalamazoo, or even to Michigan for that matter. I’d never been on a book tour either. I landed in Chicago and quickly realized things are a little different there—we were told that  we couldn’t deplane because the airline terminal workers were at lunch (like the eat-your-sandwich kind of lunch)! We sat on the plane, at the gate, waiting . . . hoping they would eat fast. And when we finally were able to get off the plane, I ran as fast as I could to get to the connecting flight to Kalamazoo.

I was met by my collaborator, David Small, and his wife (and also his collaborator) Sarah Stewart, and they gave me a tour of lovely Kalamazoo. We had a wonderful event at the most gorgeous library I’ve ever seen that night, the Kalamazoo Public Library, hosted by the one-and-only Kevin A. R. King. The next day was a packed event at one of the most pleasing stores I’ve seen, the http://www.bookbugkalamazoo.com/, with the charming and witty owners, Joanna and Derek Parzakonis. By the way, this store is not just a children’s store, they have a wonderful selection of adult titles as well so I’m trying to help spread the word here.

I also enjoyed an incredible couple of days in Mendon with David and Sarah, complete with a tour of Sarah’s wonderful garden and a lunch at the Fisher Lake Inn, where David began the journey that ended with the publication of his graphic memoir STITCHES. On Friday David and I flew back to Maplewood, NJ, my home, and we celebrated our book for the next three days straight. Thanks to the magnanimous Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Illingworth (both of http://www.morrowpreschool.org/, the indomitable and charming Mrs. Jane Folger of www.maplewoodlibrary.org and the terrific Jonah Zimiles of http://wordsbookstore.com/, as well as the cool and crazy chicks Marcy Thompson and Jenny Turner Hall of http://www.studiobmaplewood.org/about.php. By the way, none of this would have been as tasty without the best baker in the USA: http://www.theablebaker.com/bakery.html.

Here is David at [words]:

And here we are at the Bookbug, the Maplewood Library, and [words] again, with the live rogue cookie!

And here, with the Able Baker herself!

And then, to cap off a perfect launch week, we received this wonderful review by Maria Russo in The New York Times Book Review!

I’m looking forward to hanging around town for a bit now, and getting to work on my next project.

My new picture book, Catch That Cookie!, a collaboration with Caldecott-winner David Small, has just been published, and on September 10, I’ll be heading out to Kalamazoo, Michigan to launch the book with David. 

I’m excited to spend the time with him and his wife Sarah Stewart and to meet their locals at the Kalamazoo Public Library and the indie store, The Bookbug. Then David and I will be coming back to Maplewood, New Jersey, to launch our book here.

Catch That Cookie! wouldn’t exist if my family and I didn’t live in Maplewood. When my son Marshall was four, he brought home a gingerbread-man recipe from preschool, and he wanted to make it. By June of that year we still hadn’t made the cookies and he wanted to bring some to his class picnic. So I borrowed the cookie cutters from his teacher, Mrs. Gray, and we baked those cookies in 90-degree heat. When we put them in the mini-van to drive to the picnic, Marshall locked all the doors. He didn’t want the cookies to escape.

I was dying to know what Mrs. Gray had done at school to convince Marshall that cookies can run. And so I interviewed her and learned about the annual cookie hunt the teachers do, and that inspired Catch That Cookie! This book literally took a village to create. And so I’m really excited that Mrs. Gray and some of the other Morrow teachers, as well as David (!) will be joining us to launch the book at two different events, one a scavenger hunt at the Maplewood Library, one a drawing lesson by David Small at Words Maplewood.

We’re also doing an event for people who want to write or illustrate picture books, or who are just interested in learning about collaboration. We’re happy to team up with Studio B and some other local authors for this event too!

A complete list of our appearances:

Wednesday, September 10, 2014, 6 P.M., Kalamazoo Public Library

A Conversation with David Small & Hallie Durand

315 South Rose Street , Kalamazoo, MI 49007

Here’s the link.

Thursday, September 11, 2014, 5:00 P.M., Bookbug, Kalamazoo

Cookie hunt & Book signing, with Hallie Durand and David Small

3019 Oakland Dr, Kalamazoo, MI 49008

And here’s the link for that one.

Saturday, September 13, 2014, 3:00 P.M., Maplewood Library

Scavenger Hunt & Cookie decorating, with Hallie Durand,

David Small, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Illingworth, and a live rogue cookie!

51 Baker Street, Maplewood, NJ 07040

http://www.maplewoodlibrary.org/kids-events/

Sunday, September 14, 2014, 12:00 P.M., Paramus Public Library

Reading & Drawing Lesson, with Hallie Durand, David Small,

and a live rogue cookie!

E116 Century Road, Paramus, NJ 07652

RSVP 201-599-1309

http://booksbytesbeyond.com/event/presentation-activities-hallie-durand-david-small/

Sunday, September 14, 2014, 4;30 P.M., Studio B Honcho

Scratches & Scribbles Event for aspiring or already arrived Writers & Artists,

with Hallie Durand & David Small, Anna Kang & Christopher Weyant,

Richard T. Morris, and Julie Burstein, moderating

60 Woodland Road, Maplewood, NJ 07040

http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/830322

Monday, September 15, 4:00 P.M., WordsMaplewood Bookstore

Hallie Durand & David Small (and Mrs. Gray!)

Quick Drawing Lesson, Shapes & Contours, & Book Signing

179 Maplewood Avenue, Maplewood, NJ 07040

Hope to see you!

It’s summer here in Maplewood, NJ, and one thing that means for us is freshly cut rhubarb, which we grow around the garden. Rhubarb was a staple of my childhood; my mom grew it just behind the garage, parallel to the clothes line. The fat stalks and big lush leaves, with the smell of air-dried laundry, those clothes stiff in the best way ever, always meant summer to me. And minus the air-dried laundry, rhubarb still means summer, and it means rhubarb “bread” (at least that’s what we call this cake when we’re devouring it), rhubarb cobbler, and rhubarb muffins, which my nine year old and I made yesterday. I’m sharing my mom’s recipes here.

And home-made bread and home-grown fruit reminds me of my nine years in 4-H, which taught me so much about gardening, cooking, baking, and sewing. I wasn’t so good at sewing, but I sure did love baking bread. I liked eating it too. And my 4-H leader, Mrs. Shirley Nuessle, suggested one summer that I compete for the New York State “Bread” Award—that was just after my tenth-grade year. I didn’t have much of a social life, living a half mile from the nearest neighbor, so I started baking. Yeast bread. Lots of it. I baked every morning, letting the dough rise in the green Oldsmobile, nice and hot in there. Then I’d punch it down and let it rise again. I made two loaves each time, and we ate one as a family and I froze the other. By the end of summer, I had an entire harvest table of bread to photograph, cinnamon swirl, whole wheat, sour dough, English muffin bread—you name it, I baked it. My photos, along with an essay, earned me the title of New York State Bread Champion; check out my pin. And a trip to Chicago for Nationals.

I wish I could tell you I won Nationals, but the competition was stiff. The winner had baked bread, using a generator, for her entire town for three days, during a blizzard. My humble harvest table didn’t hold a candle to that, but I did sure did enjoy the bus trip from New York State to Chicago, and I made quite a few new 4-H friends along the way. (4-H: Head, Hands, Heart, and Health)

I still turn to cooking and baking to relax. My son and I quadruple that rhubarb recipe and mix it in a lobster pot (the only  container we have that’s big enough). The smell of it baking fills the house, and I feel like I’m right back in Steuben, New York. And that feels good.