Welcoming Winter

October 27th and the schools are closed in Duluth, Minnesota. Sixty mile per hour winds and snow, not falling gently, but blowing sideways. Twelve ships have found safe harbor here and are waiting out the storm. They are saying this storm is more severe than the ferocious northwest winds and seas that washed as high as eight to 12 feet over the Edmund Fitzgerald in 1975 taking her down to the bottom of Lake Superior.

The fire is roaring. I sit and listen to the crackle and hiss of snow covered wood. It is a contemplative mood. I have been parked under a down throw answering emails, searching through recipes and gathering thoughts for future muse. The end of October seems entirely too early to be welcoming winter. The animals are already beside themselves for what to do in doors all day long. I have more than enough to entertain myself and I welcome this storm; appreciating my captivity.

Few things are more inviting than a warm kitchen on a cold day–especially one steeped in the redolence of savory dishes and delectable desserts baking. Today is perfect for the oven to be working full-time These past few days I have decided to take up bread baking. Each time I go to the store, I am lured by the artisan breads and appalled by the increasing costs– five and six dollars for a loaf of bread! While many find the time it takes to knead bread therapeutic, kneading is most likely what kept me away from the experience of regular bread baking. I have a mixer on loan to me inclusive of a bread hook that aids me in turning out perfect loaves each and every time. However, bread making is a unique experience, with each loaf, batch and dough having its own personality. Once upon a time, I owned a bakery. Baking did not captivate me. I suppose having a new- born, working an additional full time job and running a bakery business did not lend itself to enjoyment of the art. Now I relish being up to my elbows in flour. I have learned to fold the dough rather than punch it down, to strengthen it as the gases are being redistributed. I've learned to create a steamy environment for the bread to thrive. Perhaps the loaves are not perfectly shaped, but they are delicious and beautiful and I relish the fact, I am learning something new daily. My new practice has slowed life down.


These days, my mornings start with feeding the animals, brewing a pot of coffee, starting the fire. I absorb the predawn silence with mediation and check in with the morning news. I decide on what tasks to take on. I assemble ingredients for the day's bread or layout materials for a craft project and allow myself to be carried by whim and fancy. I am so ever grateful for this sabbatical in time.

As winter whispers hello the days pass effortlessly and chores feel joyful. The wood is piled high next to the wood stove The winds have calmed a bit and the pup and I just came in from a romp in the snow. I tried my best to distract him from the doe standing silently only an arms reach away. Lunch is in the making–a salad of tender greens–buttery spinach and the sweet of craisins and poppyseed dressing are perfect accompaniment to a juicy tender pork loin accented by luscious pear sauce. Herbed popovers with their crumbly tops and chewy centers are the baking excursion for the day. My heart and hearth prepares for the quiet of the season.

~The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"