There is nothing like home made bread, fresh and hot from the oven. It fills the senses, the belly, and the spirit with such delight.
Steaming hot, I place it on the baking rack to cool, and the house — the whole house — smells like home. Smells like care and love and connection, and a gathering together of all things good and right and beautiful.
Today I am making an organic Honey Spelt. It’s a hardy, delicious bread that pairs well with soups, bean dishes, and jam. My son loves a toasted sandwich made from this particular bread and refried beans. Oh, and don’t forget home made butter! Oh. My. Gosh. Once you’ve tasted homemade butter, you’ll never want to go back to store bought! But I digress.
This bread goes fast in my household. Made today, gone tomorrow! That’s alright, though. It’s the way of good, fresh food.
There are other “daily breads” as well: there is the joy and wonder of watching my son grow into a strong young man, and the gilded beauty of walking side by side with the same man for over twenty years. There are other worldly things that feed my senses as well: my goats quietly chewing their cud in the shade on a hot summer day, the chickens sunbathing with one leg extended like chunky, feathered ballerinas. There are good books and good friends and good work. There are roses — Oh, my, the roses! —blushing in soft pinks or bursting in sun-bright yellow and spanish red. There are lumber piles and broken buckets, and a half-made greenhouse, all awaiting their turn in this long renovation and restoration process.
All of these things feed me in different ways. But deeper in, where I fly alone, there is the profound joy of connection with The Divine. It is this deep connection that infuses everything in my outer world. Makes everything perfect in its natural unfolding. As it was created to be.
This is the real daily bread.