Bread and the power of memory

(My Mother, Mema and me)

Baking became an obsession early on.  Both my Mother and Grandmothers were excellent cooks.  My Mother's Mother (or Mema as we called her) was a wonderful baker and made cakes and pies for the local grocery store. 

From a very early age, I knew the power of smells and how much they evoke memory.

During my childhood I would find no greater thrill than getting off the bus and walking towards our house and knowing that Mema was over and they were baking bread... I could smell it in the driveway... that sweet yeast smell - melted butter.  My heart would beat a little faster knowing that Mema was there and that I might be able to help in some way.

Mema's bread recipe made a lot of bread and we always had some in the freezer for cooler days.  Friends would always receive loaves or biscuits.

My job was to brush the melted butter on the bread as it was rising and then again after they came out of the oven.  I took great pride in this job...

As I got older I made the bread myself, entered it into our local 4-H fair and won blue ribbons.  It made me proud to know that in some small way I was carrying on a tradition that had spanned across generations.  Seeing my Grandmother and Mother working side by side talking about their lives, church, children or sometimes saying nothing but working in a harmony that only come with time and a close bond.

Not too long ago I made bread with my Mom at her house and those same memories came flooding back - the smell... the bonding...

Even now, when I make bread here I always linger a little longer and smell the dough as it is rising.  It makes me feel like a child again, safe in the kitchen with two of the most important women in my life.  Feeling like a big girl... wanting to be grown so bad and now wishing I could be a child again in the kitchen for just an hour...