Greetings from Mile 12,142 --
My kitchen is a mess, and I'm the happiest I've been in months.
I'd almost forgotten the power -- and joy -- of baking!
Whenever I faced a
tough patch, baking always helped get me through.
Everything is a multistep process these days: getting ready for work, collecting the mail, traveling from Point A to Point B. I've become better at planning, more practiced at problem-solving. Steadier with a backpack.
But still, it's exhausting. And laced with
loss.
I'm grateful to my body for rising to the challenge -- for doing what's required -- but that's usually all I can manage.
I had written off baking completely.
It just wasn't worth the energy.
I plan the trip and do the driving.
Mom is the Sherpa, lugging everything except my backpack.
(She's small but mighty!)
We're going to visit my sister Sam and her family, a trip we've made dozens of times over the years, usually with Dad in the driver's seat.
In Danbury, we pass his favorite stop, the Blue Colony Diner. We start to text him a photo, and then realize we can't. When we reach Springfield, we want to tell him we've arrived. The car feels empty without him.
This trip is different. Everything is different.
Maybe for that reason, we divert from our usual path.
Instead of connecting to I-89 at White River Junction, we drive 20 more miles up I-91 to a place I've never been but have always aspired to go...
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King Arthur Baking Company -- the headquarters! |
To our surprise (and my delight) it's fully accessible.
The parking spaces are close.
The doors are automatic.
The restrooms are roomy.
The floors are smooth.
That's as close to effortless as it gets on crutches!
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I feel absolutely welcome!! |
The staff is friendly, helpful, and smiling. The café barista wears a sweatshirt emblazoned with the words...
KEEP RISING.
It's a fun diversion -- and exactly the message we "knead." :)
We treat ourselves to true Vermont fare: fig and brie on a homemade baguette, a fall salad with maple dressing, steaming cups of cider with biodegradable lids.
Then we poke around the factory store. It's full retail therapy wrapped in the aroma of baking bread.
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Mom does all the carting and carrying!
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I'm on my feet (well, foot) for quite a while. We both are. But it's not exhausting.
It's renewing.
Two hours later, we meet up with our favorite Vermonters.
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They don't even notice the delay! |
Back at home, I start counting miles again, picking up where I left off almost 2 months ago.
At Mile 12,142, I decide it's time to get back to baking.
I scoot around the kitchen on my wheelie stool.
Pivot on one foot to pull out the ingredients.
Stand when I need more leverage.
I thought I couldn't bake without my prosthesis on, but it turns out I can...
It's just different.
I plan out each step. Try to be organized. Stand up. Sit down. Stand up again.
It's a multistep process, but it's not exhausting.
It's an exhilarating diversion -- one I want to do, not have to do.
The counter swirls with its messiest storm in months: canned pumpkin, bright red cranberries, granulated sugar, sifted flour, shakers of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves.
I reunite with my bowls and cups and wooden spoons like old friends.
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The kitchen fills with the warmth of fall. |
I measure and stir and crack a few eggs.
Drip oil down my sleeve.
Drop wrappers on the floor.
Crush crumbs with the wheels of my stool.
My hands are busy. My mind is focused.
Disorder becomes order.
And that mess on the kitchen counter?
It rises into something new, and nourishing, and beautiful.
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A pumpkin-cranberry bread to share, gratefully, with friends. |
Making time for who and what we love is always worth the trip.
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KEEP RISING.
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Wishing you a happy and healthy Thanksgiving!
Bake on,
Rebecca