Someone just said to me the other day, “I’m addicted to baking bread.”

It is, as my sister says, an experience.

There is some thing simple, feminine, honest and old about baking bread.

And the smell…

I hope someday when my children are old and I am gone that they are filled with motherly comfort when the encounter the smell of bread in the oven.


Banana bread.
Zucchini bread.
Rosemary/Lemon artisan bread.

We eat bread a couple times a week.  And the six/seven of us can burn through five pounds of flour very quickly.

My daughters amaze me.  They are so thrilled to be in the kitchen with me.  

It’s humbling.
It’s precious.
It’s teachable.
It’s humbling.

I am beyond envious of these moments captured between “One Gram” (my Mom Joy) and my daughter Juliette.  No one is around to snap pics when the girls and I work together.  I’d love to have some photos just like these.  But even so, how absolutely precious to have them of a gramma and grand daughter baking scones together.

I too remember baking with my Gramma in her kitchen.  I remember her flour drawer.  I loved the idea of scooping flour out of a drawer!  And her red and white checkered cookbook.

It’s raining today.  
No gardening.  
I’ll stay clean for a nice change and perhaps the girls and I will fill the kitchen with memories and homey aromas.

Happy Baking.
Parisienne Farmgirl