Just having a flashback, brought on by the bright early spring morning we are having. When we were kids we lived back a very long lane. Easily a quarter mile long. We always walked the lane to the bus, the three of us, my brother Brian and Margaret and I. At the end of the lane sat a small building with windows so we could see the bus coming when it was cold or rainy. I rarely remember getting a ride to the end of the lane, but maybe on the worst days.
Spring mornings were my favorite for walking to the bus. It was bright, new, fresh and we wore sweaters instead of winter coats, we carried our books and our lunch boxes. The sun was glowing and new grass was damp from the morning dew, the birds were singing. When we were older, we would often ride our bikes to the end of the lane, we'd lay them in the grass along the drive and retrieve them in the afternoon when we were dropped off again. We never worried that our bikes would be gone, it just didn't happen in the country in those days.
We were the first to get on the bus and the first to be dropped off. Our ride in the morning was usually about forty minutes long. I never really minded that, I always sat with the same friend and we were happy with each others company. I loved our bus driver too, I see him still in my mind, he was always smiling and said, "Good Morning" to everyone that stepped on the bus. And in the afternoon, he always said, "Good night".
When I was older, being the first to get on, I would request the job of opening the door for each stop. It was fun to stand at the front of the bus and be the door person. I never got the job at night being the first off. I don't ever remember if my brother or sister got to do this or even if they wanted to, it seemed to be my job.
One of the other things I remember is going home from school with a friend, all I needed was a note from my Mom to tell the friends bus driver that I had permission. These days my grandchildren have to get off the same spot every night, no changes allowed. If they have somewhere else to go they have to be picked up at the school by the parent in charge. And there is no way they would be allowed to stand at the front of the bus and open the door, they might fall out or something. Seriously, it is a wonder I have lived as long as I have with all the safety things out there now. Could I ride my bike to the end of the lane without a helmet, or would my bike be found when I returned in the afternoon?
It is good to remember the simpler times when we walked our lane on a warm spring morning.
Meandering Thoughts
Summer
Sunday, February 2, 2020
Baking Bread
Lately I've been craving homemade bread. I love the yeasty aroma of bread baking in the oven. I have watched the beautiful dough filled pans turn a golden color as they mound above the pan edges. Pulling them out and rubbing them with butter to keep the crust from getting too hard. The knife is waiting for it to cool enough to cut, that first bite is the most wonderful mouthwatering flavor in the world.
I learned in 4-H long ago how to make yeast bread and rolls. I had the most amazing 4-H advisor, Mary Mott and our club was called "Happy Workers". She taught us to make bread in her own farmhouse kitchen. Several 4-H'ers would gather at her house on a summer morning and begin the process. It was often messy and flour was everywhere and I don't recall she ever seemed to mind the mess. Our reward was watching the dough rise in those towel covered bowls all in a row. As soon as it had risen enough it was punched down and kneaded to eliminate air pockets and then formed and placed into the waiting greased bread pans. Another hour of waiting for it to rise before it went into the oven. Oh, it was the most wonderful moment when we pulled them hot from the oven.
Of course we made yeast rolls too, they were perfect cloverleaf rolls in 4-H. They were the best, fresh gathered eggs and real butter was used, giving them the most amazing golden color. When rolls were made at our house when I was growing up, I always made a double recipe. Everyone love the homemade rolls. My grandmother also made yeast rolls, she would flatten out a ball of dough and the swish it around in melted butter, fold it in half and place it in the rectangular shaped pan. I will never forget the smell and taste of her yeast rolls at the Christmas table.
I still made bread and rolls when my children were growing up. I'd roll the dough out on our old butcher block in the center of the kitchen, flour everywhere and then turn it into a great yellow crock bowl with a towel over the top to rise. That bowl was then placed inside a cupboard to rise. You see we had hotwater heat during those days and the person who installed that system in the kitchen ran the heater lines inside the cupboards, they were always toasty warm and in the winter, we'd have to leave the cupboard doors open to have a warm kitchen. It did make the most perfect place for yeast dough to rise. Those cupboards also made the most wonderful place for our cat Polly to take a winter nap.
I then remember getting a bread making machine. All the ingredients were placed inside a "bucket" and it was mixed, allowed to rise a couple times and then baked. In three hours the entire house smelled of fresh baked bread. As soon as the timer went off the "bucket" was pulled from the machine so it could cool faster and then be cut and slathered with butter and jam. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
Might be just the thing to do today!
I learned in 4-H long ago how to make yeast bread and rolls. I had the most amazing 4-H advisor, Mary Mott and our club was called "Happy Workers". She taught us to make bread in her own farmhouse kitchen. Several 4-H'ers would gather at her house on a summer morning and begin the process. It was often messy and flour was everywhere and I don't recall she ever seemed to mind the mess. Our reward was watching the dough rise in those towel covered bowls all in a row. As soon as it had risen enough it was punched down and kneaded to eliminate air pockets and then formed and placed into the waiting greased bread pans. Another hour of waiting for it to rise before it went into the oven. Oh, it was the most wonderful moment when we pulled them hot from the oven.
Of course we made yeast rolls too, they were perfect cloverleaf rolls in 4-H. They were the best, fresh gathered eggs and real butter was used, giving them the most amazing golden color. When rolls were made at our house when I was growing up, I always made a double recipe. Everyone love the homemade rolls. My grandmother also made yeast rolls, she would flatten out a ball of dough and the swish it around in melted butter, fold it in half and place it in the rectangular shaped pan. I will never forget the smell and taste of her yeast rolls at the Christmas table.
I still made bread and rolls when my children were growing up. I'd roll the dough out on our old butcher block in the center of the kitchen, flour everywhere and then turn it into a great yellow crock bowl with a towel over the top to rise. That bowl was then placed inside a cupboard to rise. You see we had hotwater heat during those days and the person who installed that system in the kitchen ran the heater lines inside the cupboards, they were always toasty warm and in the winter, we'd have to leave the cupboard doors open to have a warm kitchen. It did make the most perfect place for yeast dough to rise. Those cupboards also made the most wonderful place for our cat Polly to take a winter nap.
I then remember getting a bread making machine. All the ingredients were placed inside a "bucket" and it was mixed, allowed to rise a couple times and then baked. In three hours the entire house smelled of fresh baked bread. As soon as the timer went off the "bucket" was pulled from the machine so it could cool faster and then be cut and slathered with butter and jam. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
Might be just the thing to do today!
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