Homemade bread is a comfort food. This morning, a random Monday with no plans in sight, I decided to make a double batch of homemade bread. The kids and I scooped in millet, whole wheat, white, and barley flours along with the usual suspects. Our yeast was proofed and very enthusiastic. The bread "felt" right going in to rise. An hour or so later, as B and I work prepping loaves for the second rise, my Mom called and said she and my cousin Kira would probably stop by later for just a bit. We continued with our baking, working, playing, etc... When Kira and Mom arrived, the bread was in the oven and the house already smelled heavenly. Time passed, as my call ended we had a hot, fresh, homemade bread feast. As I worked and they played with B, more people came - Aunt Ann and my Brother, B loved having playmates. More bread was broken. They left while I was still working, but took a sample of the bread on to my Grandpa Dotter. Even more of the bread was our dinner. There is still a bit left for tomorrow, but quite a lot of comfort was shared both by the fact of homemade bread and by the random presence of so many people that happened to show up to share it.
I love that some of it is going to my Grandpa. He has just been phenomenal for me this last year. We have talked more one-on-one, than in years. Serious stuff, cooking, or whatever. He has given us all so much, but there is so little I can give in return. A few times lately I have been able to send him treats from my kitchen, which is the best as I know he is both the most critical and most appreciative audience.
Some days, just a little bread can make a huge difference.