When I was married the first time, my then husband baked all of our bread, and he took pride in that. Rightfully so – it was good bread, with special ingredients that would keep us all healthy and fit. I grew the vegetables, did the work to preserve the food – putting up jars of good relishes and tomato products, and freezing a whole winter’s supply of broccoli and other veggies. So we each had our domain, and that’s the way it was.
Twenty-two years ago we divorced, and eventually I fell in love again and remarried. In all that time, I never tried to bake bread, or make anything that included yeast. I can bake a mean, tender pie crust, great quick breads or coffee cakes, but there was always a deep reluctance to take on bread. It just seemed much too hard.
I watched my baking friends with envy and joyfully munched on their home baked breads, pizza crusts, and cinnamon rolls, wishing all the time that I could do that. So one of my goals in my newly retired status has been to take it on, but I was afraid to try. When my friend Lorna was visiting a couple of weeks ago, I talked about it with her and she declared that we would bake great bread together that very day – but of course we ran out of time and it didn’t happen.
Her visit ended, and then I flew out to South Dakota to visit my son’s family. My daughter-in-law not only bakes ALL their breads, she also grinds her own wheat into flour to ensure the quality and nutrition is at its peak. I’ve always admired her for that, and she makes it look so easy! When I returned home, I wished I had asked her to walk me through the steps – I’m sure she would have been delighted to do so. But I didn’t think of it until I got back to New Hampshire, realized that I’ve been retired nine months now, and still hadn’t made any progress.
How hard could it be? I convinced myself to just give it a shot. All I had to lose was some flour and part of one day. Yesterday, I just made up my mind to do it. A couple of years ago Kiersten gave me a recipe for oatmeal bread (my favorite) that she declared a good starter recipe, so I dug it out of the back of my recipe box, assembled the ingredients on the kitchen counter, and began.
I wasn’t at all self-confident while the project was underway. The recipe didn’t say how long it would take for the dough to rise, and it seemed endless. I had to guess at some other parts, too, but I’ve been at home in the kitchen long enough that I was able to just go with it and use my intuition, and eventually I had three loaves sitting on the top of the stove, rising. I was stunned when the dish towel actually had three good sized bumps – it was really rising! Into the oven with them, set the timer, and wait. It smelled yeasty and yummy, so I was cautiously optimistic.
When the timer buzzed the end of baking, I pulled out the three golden loaves, put them out on a rack to cool, and made the soup for dinner. When it was time to cut the finished product into slices – I was excited and nervous. I took a couple of photos first, wanting to remember this moment.
The slices looked great. On goes the butter – and – oh, it was heavenly. A little touch of sweet (molasses in the mixture) and great texture from the oatmeal. I could have eaten nothing but bread, forget the soup.
At the end of the day, I felt grateful – I had overcome an obstacle that I had built around myself, oh so many years ago. What a great feeling. It’s more than just about the bread; it’s about trusting yourself and taking a chance.
Life is good.