Homemade Bread

I've been on a real kick lately for making bread. Not the kind where you dump all the ingredients in a machine and press a button but the kind where you mix, knead, let it rise, punch it down and finally get to smell the sweet scent of baking bread. My children have been happy to help me in this endeavor and the whole family has been all too happy to help eat the accomplishment.

I think making bread is becoming a lost art. Certainly, there is an art to it. One it has taken me a while to learn, with nothing but books to guide me. One I want to pass onto my own children and hope they will then pass down to theirs. There is something so peaceful and old-fashioned and just plain homey about making bread. I feel connected to past generations, to my history as a woman. That's something important to me.

It's easy in this modern age of hustle and bustle, electronics and time-saving kitchen machines to forget to stop and savor. I want to savor all the parts of my life. My food and the preparation of it, my children as they grow before my eyes, my home and all the special, non-descript moments that happen in it. To some, my life may be boring, but it is MINE and I cherish it. Making bread for me is just another way to stop and smell the roses.