I was up before dawn to bake bread. I love the quiet of early morning. The dogs wanted to rise when they heard me get up, but they took a quick turn on the frosty grass and then ran right back up stairs to sleep in. Smart dogs.
I am baking communion bread. Normally I used my trusty starter, which I named "Seymour" when I aquired it 15 or so years ago. Seymour lives in an antique salt glazed crock in my 'fridge, and should be fed weekly. Lately I've been slacking, and Seymour was not up to creating the sweet, soft loaves he usually does. So today I am trying an oatmeal bread recipe that looked easy, and best of all, relatively quick. I should have baked last night, but the Pomegranite Martini's and good conversation made me think that waiting until this morning was a better idea!
James Taylor is singing to me softly, and the house is warming as the fire in the woodstove kicks to life. Dawn is creeping over the meadow, and a low mist is hugging the browning grass. It promises to be a lovely fall day. My sister and niece are visiting, and Rachel is home from college for a weekend of sleep and home cooking. Our plan is to stock up on cider and apples from the farm stand, and make a scare crow to welcome visitors. Stay tuned...
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