A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long. – e. e. cummings

A day like today. One week after the attacks in Paris, the weather is stormy, the sky a hazy pewter gray, the mist hanging low and clinging to the bare branches of the trees. Sadness. Yet it is cozy inside and as it is now officially low season at the hotel, the reception, the halls are quiet and still. Peaceful. I am laid low by something flulike, the bug that has been dancing back and forth amongst the staff for the past month. But I have decided to get up and work, because I know that when one is laid low, the best way to overcome whatever is clinging to our body and our soul can only be shaken off by movement, work, and activity.

My jam making has been slowing down as we drift between fruit seasons. I’ve made jars and jars of pear jam these past few weeks and just stored away the pear-black currant and the vanilla pear in the jam cupboard. My cookbook proposal is finished and now in the hands of my agent, yet now I am going through my recipes, writing down in black and white what I want to make for the book if it comes to fruition. Friends are offering to test recipes and even create recipes for the book. My time is freer now, so I can get back to my various writing projects as well.

But today… a day like today, blustery and tempestuous outside, snug and tranquil inside, is the kind of day one must bake bread. The pure act of blending, kneading, shaping, baking bread is therapeutic and soothing. The pure act of making loaves of bread takes time and concentration, it allows one’s mind to wander while focusing our physical body and soul on the careful, purposeful measuring and weighing of ingredients, the rhythmic movement of kneading, the sensual delight of shaping the dough. The magic of watching it rise. The pleasure of the finished loaf.

Baking bread is a lot like raising children. It starts from nothing, a blend of a few simple, basic ingredients and love. It is a gentle balance of coddling and kneading, tender pressure mixed with a little force and elbow grease. Press and fold, push and pull as we whisper encouragement, brush the sweat from our brow and try and get the perfect texture, faultless, beyond compare. We do our best to mold it into the desired shape and yet accept its imperfections, patching up its bumps and imperceptibly, gingerly pushing it back as best we can. Then we cover it loosely, just enough to protect it but not so much as to smother it, hinder its growth, then step back, breathe and wait. Wait. Impatiently even as we are oh-so tempted to help it along, knowing that our help just won’t make it go any faster or change the outcome. We watch. Anxiously. Praying that it goes as planned though knowing now that we have done our job, all that we can do, and now can only watch and wait.

We are at once powerless and all-powerful, having followed our own urges and made the decision to create something of beauty, something to please others while really only trying to please ourselves, yet we can only do what is in our power to do for only so long and then what happens happens. We pray that inside our little baby is soft and tender, fragrant and sweet. We hope that outside our little baby is tough enough to hold up to heat and pressure, protect the delicate goodness inside, crusty, golden, delectable. We would like what we have created to be distinctive, enticing, delightful and, yes, palatable. We take that basic recipe and throw in our own personal mix of pizzazz: nuts, earthy, wholesome and toothsome; chocolate chips or fruit, sweetness oh-so sweet; cheese or meat, smoky, powerful, spicy or subtle yet intriguing. And we serve it up, send it out of the kitchen and into the world to be tasted, eaten and judged and wait, wait some more, for smiles to appear all around, nods of appreciation, applause and kudos, asking for more.

Once again, I did not bake along with the Bread Baking Babes although the stunning Russian Chrysanthemum Bread proposed by this month’s host Lien of Lien’s Notes is one I must bake! Do visit her blog to see the bread, discover the recipe, and bake along and earn your Bread Baking Buddy Badge!

I have reached back into my archives and decided to share one of my favorite bread recipes. I have taken my go-to, fabulous, fail-proof Challah recipe from Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoë François and added one of my favorite fruit: cherries. Deep, dark, and sweet with a delicate sourness and pronounced flavor, cherries with a tablespoon or two of tiny chocolate chips will raise the Challah to new heights and take a bread and turn it into dessert. A touch of maple syrup, the crunch of slivered almonds and the bread is complete.