I love to bake! My kids and I make an annual cookbook with new recipes we try out together. Last year I included something I’ve been wanting to try for years.
I grew up with the smell of homemade freshly baked bread. It brings back wonderful childhood memories. I learned to make breads such as pumpkin bread and banana bread, but something about waiting for the yeast to rise and the aroma enveloping the house was so appealing, yet unreachable, to me.
Then, as with most things, one day the wall in my mind that was holding me back crumbled. Suddenly I was aware if I never tried I could never succeed. I bought the ingredients and went to work. I started with a cinnamon raisin bread, because I figured even if it didn’t end up looking like bread it was likely my kids would eat it. I didnt even let them help the first time. I was so terrified I would make a mistake. I refused to use a bread maker because I felt that would ruin the authenticity somehow. I followed the recipe closer than ever before.
At the end of the day we had 3 beautiful bread loaves, a home that smelled of love and baking, and a very proud woman who told everyone who would listen. About a month later I began craving a potato bread from my childhood. We followed the recipe to a T, but the taste didn’t live up to my memories. Since then it has all been trial and error. We have made quite a few different bread recipes. I love everything about making my own bread.
To some it may seem small and insignificant, but to me I achieved what I once thought was unachievable. I finished a list item. I succeeded.