Basic Bread

"The dough rose high in the warm wooden bowl with the life of the land and the air bursting forth. Then the woman pressed the dough and began again, kneading and singing while she worked. The smell of the dough and the wood in the fire filled that simple space with a holy grace." -from Jane G. Meyer's The Woman and the Wheat

Lately I have had the itch to make bread, and I cannot pinpoint an exact explanation as to why. There is, I suppose, the pragmatic answer, that baking our family's bread would save us money since the bread I buy is close to $3.50 a loaf (a chunk of change for not acquiescing to high frutcose corn syrup, as well as a host of ingredients I cannot pronounce). And though I would be remiss if I did not wish to decrease our grocery bill, my craving, I believe, stems from something else; something that is perhaps more fundamental to real living: Peace. While engaged in the work of making bread, even in the midst of being surrounded by children who refuse to do anything but attach themselves to my elbows and then insist upon decorating the counter and floor with flour and water, something holy is transpiring. For the feel of my hands immersed within the dough, knocking it back and forth, forming its shape, working to create something wholly unique (as well as delicious), temporarily eases the chaos around me, as well as the disquiet within, yielding a deep sense of stillness and rest, if only for a moment. So when given a rainy Friday with countless hours and really nothing to do, why not bake some bread? 

The masked man below made his own little loaf and proceeded to gobble it up within minutes of pulling it from the oven.

"The smel of new breade is comfortable to the heade and to the herte.' -Anonymous, From

Notes from a Country Kitchen as quoted in one of my favorite cook books by Evelyn Birge Vitz, 

A Continual Feast