Need to Knead

I’ve baked bread on and off for 26 years. I started shortly after my dad died in 1993. He’d been pushed into early retirement in the late 1980’s, from the job that he loved more than anything… running a supermarket like it was a corner store. As for so many people, what he did for a living defined who he was as a person. Particularly since my mum had died in 1978, his work was his life… he had no hobbies, and worked long, long hours at the supermarket… going there long before it opened in a morning, and staying long after it had closed in the evening.

When that was taken away from him, he was lost. A few years earlier, he’d downsized to a tiny retirement bungalow, close to where I grew up. His two neighbors were both widowers by that point. One was very handy, and could mend anything. The other had the largest plot of land, and had the greenest thumbs, growing enough food to feed a small community. As my dad struggled to redefine his identity post-retirement, he suddenly became the breadmaker for this unlikely trio. I don’t think that he’d ever baked bread before, but suddenly he got the bug, and until he got sick a couple of years later, he baked all of the bread for the three of them.

As I’ve written about on here before, I really struggled to come to terms with my own identity after his death. For two years, I’d focused on being there for him, driving hundreds of miles every week so that I could spend time with him, and doing my damnedest to keep giving him the will and the strength to carry on living. After he died, I was lost and broken. I’d burned myself out, and when the music stopped, I crashed hard. And then, I started baking bread… and for the next two years (until we moved to the US), I baked all of our bread. It was a way of staying connected to my dad, a form of release and renewal, a place for mindfulness and meditation… oh, and the bread I made was yummy.

Fast forward to more recent times, when my marriage was heading off a cliff a few years ago, and I found myself unable to get it back on track. Everything seemed out of control, and I desparately needed something that felt purposeful and gave me some stability. I started doing two things that gave me that structure. The first was to run a lot (doing over 1,000 miles in 2016, including two ultra-marathons and over 100 consecutive days of running… even if I’d run a marathon the day before, I’d run at least a mile and usually 3 to 5 miles). The other thing that I decided to do was to create my own sourdough starter, and started baking bread again.

I like the ritual of making sourdough… the simplicity of it, the physicality of it (I really do need to knead), and most of all, I like the finished result. I tend to bake more than I can or should eat, and so I give a lot away. It gives me a lot of pleasure to share the results of my labors with others, just as my dad used to, all those years ago.

NEED TO KNEAD

I need to knead
It’s plain to see
That baking bread is part of me

The smell, the texture
The tang and taste
With ne’er a crumb that goes to waste

With flour and water
Starter and salt
Magic happens, with rare a fault

Mixed with love
Handled with care
Fast consumed, often shared

I need to knead
It’s plain to see
Sourdough bread, how I love thee

 

© 2019 Robert Ford