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daily bread – dverse

November 12, 2014

Grandma was a widow
Nine children and a farm to run
She never learned to read or write
The boys went off to school and she stayed home.

Never funds for store bread
Nor even a recipe
Nine hungry mouths require
Much more than loving words on which to feed

She’d pile flour on the table
A pinch of this and that
Knead it till it’s ready
And the wooden oven finally bakes the bread

I grew up on store bread
Home baked was for the poor
But secretly at Grandma’s
We could never get our fill of loving bread

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From → dverse, poetry

27 Comments
  1. Loving bread indeed…. I miss my grandmother’s cookies that she used to bake for me.

  2. Nothing ever beats Grandma’s does it?

  3. There isn’t anything quite like the smell of bread baking. In fact when we have guests coming over we often bake bread and cook soup to make the house smell awesome.

  4. I love home made bread! I used to make my own, before career kicked in. I’d always make a pan of cinnamon buns when I did. It’s something I want to do, again, in the future. How good would that taste with the fruit course?

  5. I love the richness of memories you lets flow freely in here – beautifully done, Bill.

  6. Imagine how things changed.. and that store bread for sure doesn’t taste as good.. I could feel the smell in your word.

    • I was very young, as she was born in the 1890’s – but she would clean the table put a big pile of flour – make a depression in the center and crack some eggs in it, add salt and water to the center – a bowl with a flower dam – and then begin kneading it out by hand.

      Everything a pinch of this and that – for she could not read or write – but always the right amount. I suspect that making bread that way dates to the time of Christ in Eastern Europe.

  7. there’s nothing better than home-baked bread… i used to bake a lot when the kids were small… and on days when just everything feels wrong and the world seems grey and hopeless….guess what.. i bake some bread.. and everything feels a bit better again… smiles

    • the kneading of the bread, the scent of the baking, the savoring the freshly baked loaf – all very sensual things that seem to center us in the moment…

  8. Nothing like food lovingly prepared. The bread of Life.

  9. Glenn Buttkus permalink

    Ah yes, the memories that bread is made of. My mother always baked bread at home; we never had store-bought. I was an idiot, & would trade my homemade sandwiches at school for anything on Wonder Bread. Mom died at 39. What I wouldn’t give to come home to the smell of her home baked bread once more. We would take a loaf right out of the oven, & tear off huge chucks with our hands, slather it in butter, honey, or jam, & get to it.

  10. Loving bread is the best kind.

    janet

  11. To wake up to the smell of freshly baked bread… Moments of childhood are associated with such lucid memories!

  12. there is something so comforting about home baked bread.

  13. Processed food is full of junk. Anything home made is quality now.

    • often we are never satisfied with what we have – I was thinking of adding a last stanza about how we are never satisfied with what we have.

      To my mother who could make wonderful bread, it was always a sign of being poor.

  14. Rich thoughts, kneeded into dough. Breads carrying different lives. Nicely done.

  15. Yum…the best is from a grandmother’s old oven…pure love.

  16. A flash of recognition in that childhood memory – interesting that the ‘value’ of store-bought has changed so dramatically over time… Now it’s home-baked which is the luxury.

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