Baking Bread on a Snowy Day in Winter

Several weeks ago on a snowy day I decided to bake some bread. Greg wanted to photograph the process so hence the pictures. The essay below is from a response I mailed to Tina Griego at The Denver Post in July. Tina replied to my email although the newspaper did not print my response. Greg liked my essay so much he asked me to share it on The Daily Avacado.

I loved your column today. One of my favorite folk tales as a child was The Little Red Hen. In the early 70's I taught myself how to make bread by studying the diagrams and reading directions in The Tassajara Bread Book. I bought a wheat grinder and my husband mounted it on the end of the kitchen counter, tightening it so hard it cracked the formica. I made it my goal to bake all the bread we would eat for an entire year. The only time I recall it being inconvenient was when we wanted hamburgers, a meal which used to be quick, but now I had to also allow time make the buns. As the demands of a growing family and my return to teaching consumed my time, bread baking was reserved for summertime and special occasions. Since retiring, I have rediscovered the joy of baking bread. The sweet smell of the yeast and fresh flour as it is stirred, the mesmerizing rhythm of kneading the dough, the first peek under the towel to check on the magic of the yeast and memories that come when shaping the dough are a part of the joy it brings. When deciding to bake bread, you need to slow down because you will need to be home for about four to six hours. Your world becomes calm as you return to a simpler time. And this all happens before you put it in the oven and the delicious smell wafts through your house. And then of course the fruit of your passion... a treat to share with my husband, who is always begging and drooling for more!