When I was younger I made a lot of homemade bread. I loved the kneading of the dough. It always seemed to ease the troubles of the day. These days it would be difficult to do the necessary kneading of bread because of my arthritis, but I find I still enjoy the quiet time alone in my kitchen. So I limit myself to quick breads.
There is nothing like the smell of something baking in your oven. It evokes memories of family and togetherness. Of arriving home from school on a cold snowy day to find your mother has spent her afternoon baking an afternoon treat for you. Of baking those same treats for your own children.
When you take the bread from the oven there is something so satisfying in seeing that perfect loaf cooling.
The anticipation of cutting that first perfect piece is a wonderful part of the ritual,
and then there is the reward of sitting down in your chair with your freshly baked bread and a cup of tea, remembering other days of baking, and knowing that it was time well spent.
Baking. Such a wonderful part of a simple and serene life.