Today one of my customers brought me some of her raw, seedy crackers, filled with flax and other good stuff.
On Valentine's Day, some other customers brought me roses and a bottle of wine.
Other customers freely share hugs when I need them. One customer brought me a great big bag of pecans from her family in Mississippi. Oh, my, goodness. They were so good, I ate the entire bag all by myself, one handful at a time.
Some customers left me the name of their favorite poet today as I shared with them mine (Donald Hall). We share recipes, grief stories, joys of new grandbabies, smiles, tears, and more often than not, prayers, and a few gripes as well.
I have a hard job, that requires very long hours standing on my feet, lugging around big bags of grain and tubs of dough. I use a big oven and have the scars to prove it. Sometimes at the end of an eighteen hour long day I want to cry. And sometimes I do.
But then I think about the many lives of folks who have entered my life because of freshly milled whole wheat and spelt and I give thanks for my job. It seems like a miracle that I am able to get the bills paid by milling and baking bread. I can genuinely say that I am one very blessed gal, with a terrific job.