In which we continue a Haiku Farm tradition: stories to share

Every year I do this:  collect a small bundle of stories to share 

with family and friends (and total strangers) during the holidays.

Photos with Santa :  another important tradition here, of course

I never know what the "theme" will be.  I rarely choose stories in advance.  Rather, I usually settle down with the laptop and a bunch of books and start selecting stories that appeal to me.  Inevitably, I choose a story that reminds me of another story, which reminds me of another story (I know a lot of stories).

When I've got some I like, I write them down, print them into a booklet, and start handing them out.  When the Haiku Farm blog was a mere 1 year old (It started at Xmas time in 2008, when we started the process of buying the farm!) I started sharing stories here.

So, now we have a history. 

2009 stories begin HERE

2010 stories begin HERE 

2011 stories begin HERE  

2012 stories begin HERE 

2013 stories begin HERE

2014 stories begin HERE 

2015 stories begin HERE

2016 stories begin HERE

This year I'm also compiling a family cookbook, so I will include a few relevant recipes on the blog as well--which is good, because a lot of the stories may make you feel hungry.  Like this one, for example.  

Happy Merry, All Y'all.

The Smell of Bread (Africa, East Asia, and the Middle East)

It was long ago and far from here that the finest baker in five cities noticed that a dog lingered outside his bakery every morning, breathing deeply to inhale the delicious aroma of bread fresh out of the oven every morning as the sun rose.  

This dog belonged to no-one, and yet was loved by almost all.  She romped with children in the river, she sat quietly with old folks under the trees, she walked with people going to market and she walked with them heading home again.  

There was one, however, who did not love the dog, and that one was the baker.  The baker hated all dogs, and hated this one dog, loved by many, more than most.

“This dog is a thief!” accused the baker, and he called for the magistrate.  

“What does she steal?” asked the magistrate.

“Why, she steals the smell of my good bread!” answered the baker.  “Every morning, she stands outside my bakery, never offering a single coin in return for the pleasure of the scent of this bread.”

The magistrate pondered. The people gathered, and talked among themselves, and worried a little bit, about the dog who belonged to no-one.

Finally, the magistrate announced, “I find that the dog is a thief.  Every day, this dog stands outside the bakery and enjoys the scent of bread without offering a single coin in payment.  

“Thieving must be punished,” continued the magistrate.  

“And I find that the baker must give the punishment.”  The magistrate produced a great whip, and handed it solemnly to the baker, who smiled a terrible smile.

The people watching murmured in dismay.  Would the dog they loved be harmed by this baker?

The magistrate continued to speak.  “The dog has stolen the scent, the spirit of the bread.  Therefore the baker must beat the spirit of the dog:  the shadow of the dog. And this must be done each morning for seven days, so that all may see justice is done.  However,” the magistrate said sternly to the baker, “be sure not to harm the body of the dog in your punishing.  For surely the body of your bread was never harmed by her.”

So it was, the next morning, that when the dog came to breathe deeply and enjoy the scent of bread fresh out of the oven, the baker, shamefacedly, came out of his shop to beat her shadow.  

For a full hour each day for a week, in view of the town, the baker chased the dog around the street, flailing away at her shadow with the whip.  

The dog quickly learned the rules of this new game, and dashed about, barking and yipping in delight, while the people of the town gathered to watch and cheer for her.  

When the week was over at last, the baker sat down to rest in the shade of a tree.  

And the dog came, and sat quietly beside him.

When I make bread, I use the same basic recipe that Mel describes on her blog, but while compiling the family cookbook, I found this recipe from Jim's stepmother's mom.  It sounds really good--and I'll bet it smells fabulous.

Ellen’s Mother’s Oatmeal Bread

In a large bowl, add 2 cups boiling water to 1 cup uncooked rolled oats; let stand ½ hour.

Add 1 envelope active dry yeast to ¼ cup warm water – dissolve.

To oats add ½ cup light molasses, 2 tsp salt, 1 Tbl butter.  Add the yeast water and mix well.

Gradually beat in 6 cups sifted flour until dough leaves sides of bowl.  Cover bowl with a towel, let rise until double (about 1 hour)

Beat dough again; divide into 9”x5”x3” loaf pans.  Cover, rise again about 45 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350*.  Bake 50 minutes or until they sound hollow.  Makes 2 loaves.