Baking

When I bake, I can't help but let my mind take me back to my childhood days. I had it in my mind that I wanted to bake buns yesterday. So I rounded up my Oma's homemade bun recipe and got started. Of course, this meant first running to the grocery store for milk and yeast. It's an old fashioned recipe with the traditional yeast that needs proofing and stuff like that. I love it. I love baking with bread and there's nothing quite as satisfying as seeing the tiny ball of dough rise to overflowing!

Then, it's just as exciting to see the little lumps of dough rise into their yummy bun shapes. For me, it's a thrill. If I could bake bread or buns daily, I would!

And oh how good it smells in my house today. The aroma of fresh baked buns takes me to a little house in Neerlandia, Alberta where I remember spending many, many visits with my Oma and Opa. I can recall how the kitchen was always being used to bake and a special treat was these buns with a pat of butter and a sprinkling of white sugar on top. Always. Every. Single. Visit.

My Oma was a wonderful baker and although she died when I was only 8 years old, the memory of these hot buns still is so very clear in my mind.

My mom was also a busy baker. The house often smelled of loaves, cookies or cakes. We often would come home from school and could eagerly anticipate something delicious that she had baked for a snack. I love how when I bake, the time is spent remembering the women before me who have left their skills and talents to me and maybe even one day, my own daughters will delight in baking. I am so thankful for the memories I have.