Life Lessons in a Loaf of Bread

I never took much interest in what was going on in the kitchen. My mom was an amazing cook and looking back I wonder if it ever bothered her that I chose to spend time outside doing chores rather than helping and learning from her in the kitchen. I could always count on coming into the house on a Saturday afternoon to the smell of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls. Oftentimes she would deep fry the dough to make fry bread, a special treat that we ate smothered in honey. 

I remember one particularly snowy, cold Saturday, too cold to find any enjoyment outside. I happened by the kitchen and somehow became intrigued with the whole bread-baking process. Mom casually asked me if I’d like to learn, and I guess because I had nothing better to do, I agreed to a lesson. She taught me things like getting the liquid to the perfect temperature to make the yeast bubble, kneading the dough and then kneading it some more, and letting the dough rest to rise. My favorite part was making cinnamon rolls by rolling the dough into a large oval, spreading it with butter, and covering it with cinnamon and sugar. She showed me how to roll it up into a long snake and then cut it into sections. Actually, my most favorite part was eating the left-over dough that was laced with cinnamon and sugar.

Thinking back on our bread baking lesson, I find that I learned a lot more that day than how to bake a loaf of bread or make a pan of cinnamon rolls. I learned that the more you knead the bread, the better it gets; the more love you pour into something, the more you get in return. The yeast will only bubble at a certain temperature; we need to do things with great care to get maximum results. The dough will only rise if you let it rest; we need to give ourselves times of rest so that we can rise up to be our best selves. Thanks, Mom, for the life-lessons you unknowingly (or purposely) embedded into our bread-baking afternoon.