tradition – Woodsmoke and Cardamom

It’s November now. The phlox and asters have long since ended their blooming season, and the time is fast approaching when the house will once again be filled with the heady scent of cardamom as Christmas bread rises and bakes. How the seasons swirl by, with one set of pleasure-to-the-senses melding into the next! One of my nieces asked me recently if I would be baking Christmas bread this year. “IF”?!?! It could hardly be Christmas if not!!! So, yes – of course!! And I can hardly wait to get started!

If you are among the fortunate souls who take great pleasure in the baking of homemade bread, you need no explanation for the joy it brings. If not, I will try to describe it as best I can.

It often begins with merely the delightful anticipation of the process itself! The gathering of the tools and ingredients, greasing of pans, seasoned to black from many years of use. Though my lovely black bread-tins are used only for our toast and sandwich bread, they are a precious treasure to me, handed down with love from my mama after her many years of baking for our family.

My bread-board, too, is a treasure I have used for many years, built by my dad, well-used by my mom.

My “canister” for flour is immense: 11″ tall, 9+” in diameter, holds the 10lbs of flour I buy at a time throughout the year. 25lbs at Christmas time won’t fit all at once, but it doesn’t take long to get through it!! And my lovely bread bowl that only comes out for Christmas bread (I use my bread-mixer the rest of the year)

flour “canister,” bread bowl and wooden spoon

I have always loved the scent of yeast, that conjures memories of my childhood home and Mama, baking bread in our cozy kitchen. From the moment the yeast hits the lukewarm water, I am transported to that kitchen and all the wonderful memories of the best childhood, filled with love and laughter.

Here is a link to the recipe for Christmas Bread, aka Swedish Coffee Bread:

https://wp.me/p2i29U-1D

And to circle back to the title of this post: another simple joy of my childhood, and the beginning of my lifelong love of these wildflowers, was the tiny not-quite-meadow of tall grasses, phlox and asters that grew between our yard and the next-door neighbor’s.

The art of making bread is ages old -
Thousands of years ago 'twas made
By women of ancient Egypt, Syria, Greece, and Babylon.

Unleavened bread was made by Israelite women
During their flight from Pharaoh's cruel bondage.
Housewives were baking bread
When Mount Vesuvius poured tons of ash and molten rock
On unsuspecting Pompeii.

It is the staff of life,
The staple food of a million generations.
Sarah, Rebecca, Hannah, Rachel, Martha
Baked their fragrant loaves by open fires
To feed their families;

And Jesus broke the bread of life with His disciples
Before Gethsemane.

There's a deep religious connotation
In the humble art of making bread -
A soul-deep feeling, difficult to understand
Or explain.

Today, as I mix and knead and bake my bread;
And when like incense its aroma fills the house,
I think of all those women of the past
Whose work-worn hands performed this simple task.
In spirit I am close to them;
And just as they, so long ago, did lift their hearts in gratitude to God,
I, too, sincerely thank Him for our daily bread.

Tag: tradition

Phlox and Asters

Our Daily Bread