The Bakery. Or, the great trek north.
After listening to the universe, I appeared in a bakery on Tuesday afternoon, elbow-deep in flour, slightly curious as to how I had arrived there. Not appeared as in... magically... though I could likely make that case. Appeared as in... unexpectedly. Enthusiastically. And seemingly spontaneously.
You see, as my path began to veer down a different road a number of months ago, a good friend suggested I spend some time at her brother's bakery in Alstead, NH. A quiet town 30 minutes north of Keene, where people don't seem to sugarcoat and are usually paying very close attention. Living in the present, a goal many of us spend hours meditating towards, is simply a way of life here. Otherwise there's a good chance the bread would burn. The apples wouldn't grow. And the firewood just might run out.
The bakery, a small but mighty operation here at Orchard Hill, focuses almost exclusively on bread. All types. Sourdough is their core competency but chocolate chip cookies, a few cinnamon rolls, and some other soft-dough breads come out of the massive wood-fueled oven. Hundreds at a time. For three months my job is to learn as much as I can. Burn myself as few times as I'm able. And appreciate this short life adventure.