Friday Means Baking Day

Well, at least the house smells really good. Lots of bread made and ready for market. My feet hurt. I am sweaty and stinky and waiting for my turn in the shower. Didn't see much of the great outdoors except for when I was milking Coco.

I have found that I appreciate my job a lot more Saturday afternoons. Friday nights are just too tiring.

So if you want to be a farmer on your self-sustaining farm, be prepared for some long hours.

Very long hours.

Maybe most people don't want to be a farmer.

However, even on Friday nights, when I am hot and tired and sticky after a day that starts at 3am, I have to admit that I really do like my job. In the morning the sky is velvety black and sprinkled with diamond stars. At night I can hear the peepers singing by the pond and last night I even heard the bullfrog calling his girlfriend over for a visit. Wonder if they have a date tonight? Not to mention the health benefits of all the exercise I get from rolling out pizza crusts and lifting heavy tubs and trays of grain and dough. I also like the alchemy I get to witness, milling over 100 lbs of wheat, spelt and rye berries into flour, mixing just the right magic ingredients, over 4 gallons of milk from Coco, almost a gallon of honey from someone up the road, real salt, seeing it transformed from sticky glop to satiny dough to fragrant loaves of deliciousness.

Well, enough talk of bread making, better go see if I can grab my turn in the shower.

Market day starts bright and early.