Those of you who have been following me for some time are aware of my strong attachment to my grandma’s farm. It’s the home of my heart. Every squeak of the wood floor, every creak as the house settles for the night…even the smell of old varnished wood reminds me I’m home. Grandma’s been gone since ’99, my mom since ’04, and my Uncle Bob since ’08. Finally, the time came to sell the old place. Fortunately, I became friends with the new owners. They know what the place means to me, so in exchange for mowing the yard, I get to stay here whenever I want.

The old place is fading. The near jungle-like woods are encroaching, closing in on the house till it’s barely visible from the road anymore. The barn is leaning toward the peach orchard. The old John Deere isn’t working anymore, so I haven’t been able to mow. They’re in the process of getting us another riding mower, but until then, I haven’t been here much. The nurturing feelings I once experienced walking in the back door aren’t as strong these days. It kinda makes me sad, but at the same time, I know it’s got to end sometime. I’m not quite ready, but I’m feeling a change on the horizon. I know it will be ok if I can’t come here anymore. I’ll survive. Till then, I take advantage of the good times when I can.

I’ve been baking our bread for the last six or seven months, and I had a hankering for sourdough. I told you about the fiasco I had the other day and ended up with a gallon and a half of ripe starter! Hokey Smokes! I decided to dehydrate some to sell, and that still left me with a gallon. I decided to make some sourdough. I didn’t really follow a recipe. I’m getting a feel for the flour, the dough, and the techniques for different types of bread, and it’s becoming instinctual. I loaded up the dehydrator, then stirred up enough sourdough to make two loaves.

I retarded the bulk fermentation by setting the container with the dough in the fridge for the night. This helps develop the tangy flavor sourdough is known for. When it came time to shape the loaves and prepare for baking, the house was already hot. Poor Mr. FixIt was melting as it was, and I didn’t have the heart to fire up the oven to 500℉. I packed a few things, shaped the loaves, put them in the bread pans, and headed to the farm to bake them here. No matter what the daytime temp is here, when the sun goes down over the far hill, it gets nice and cool.

I pulled the bread out around 6:00 last evening and could hardly wait for it to cool enough to cut a slice, slather it with butter, and spread on some of Mrs. FixIt 1.0’s apricot jam. I gave her some homemade donuts for that, and it was a good trade. I sat here, eating my jelly bread, feeling the warm hug of my family passed. It’s put a smile on my face. I’m only staying the one night…for now. We‘re having a belated Father’s Day celebration with Mr. FixIt Junior and his family tonight. So, I’ll head home in the afternoon in time to get ready.

🔆

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.   John 6:35 ESV

***Gratitude Journal***   Today, I am grateful for the opportunity to still come and “visit my family” at the old homeplace.