Baking Bread

Retirement has become synonymous with finding my creativity.  I have never thought of myself as creative, in fact quite the opposite.  But it seems that all the things I love to do result in a product that I can touch and feel and say, "I did that.  I made that.  I grew that.  I wrote that."  Baking bread has become one of my all time favorite things to do.  I always liked making bread when the kids were young.  It was simply the right thing to do for my family.  No preservatives.  I controlled everything that went into it.  Then the kids got older and life got faster and I could buy "good" bread and tell myself that it was almost the same thing as homemade.  But now that life has taken on a slower pace, I can appreciate the other things that are wonderful about baking bread.  The smell, and I don't mean the baking part, I mean the yeast.  It is alive and once you add the warm water there is no doubt.  The musky, bitter odor tells you it is here and must be dealt with.  You are required to be a part of the bread.  You touch it, feel it, knead it and gently put it to rest.  This is not a platonic relationship.  You are involved from beginning to end.  You begin to know it by its texture.  Is it too sticky, too dry?  I am grateful for the years of watching my mom make bread.  It is the only way I would recognize the proper elasticity of bread dough and when I'm finally done kneading.  Bread is on its own time table.  It is affected by temperature and humidity just as we are; it is a living thing and what you do or fail to do will determine its quality of life.  Be mindful of this precious time you are given together.  As it bakes, it shares its gifts with the entire house.  There is never a doubt when bread is in the oven.  The aroma lasts for hours as a reminder of what has gone on here.