The creek is cool green and clear, running in and out of sunlight. A water ouzel bobs on a rock, hops into the riffle, and up to another rock, still bobbing. We follow her downstream, each taking our own path over algae slick rocks, over pebbles, over sandstone carved into fantastic, hollowed shapes, down waterfalls. We lose our small guide but keep going, walking in the creek or stepping stone above it, scrambling over boulders, swimming the deep pools. Water striders cast quick shadows on the sandstone. This park is in the center of the city but today no one else has ventured so far off the path. We’re alone in the dappled sunlight with the birds and striders. The running water drowns the sounds of traffic. The trailing blackberries are ripe, tiny and so sweet. We eat all we can reach, stuffing ourselves on summer.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

Just after sunset and the clouds above Lummi are violet, rimmed with pink. The water of the delta mirrors the sky. There are three, five, no, fourteen herons walking step by deliberate step south along the flats, necks stretched straight. Every few minutes one falls on its face. They are not graceful hunters. Purple martins swoop overhead, fork-tailed silhouettes against the graying sky. They land on the nest boxes mounted high on the old pilings, then swing away and up again. The humans walking down the beach behind us are talking loudly about college Greek life. The martins ignore them. I try to do the same. An eagle wheels out from the trees, makes an aborted dive, and circles back. The sky and the water fade to gray. The island rises, massive and dark between them. The moon is a crescent from full. Herons lift off by ones and twos. When the sky is empty of swallows, we turn and walk home in the dark.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

You don’t have to go far to get away. Turn off the road. There are no paths to follow but the braided creek. It’s slow going, bushwacking through the willow and poplar, backtracking around impenetrable bramble thickets, working your way downstream. Everything is young here: the clean-scoured gravel bars, the thin trees, the sword ferns growing tender green from the debris of winter floods, the creep of trailing blackberry vines, and have you ever seen so many wild strawberries? You cross the creek barefoot, holding your sneakers and grimacing at the cold. On the next bar you find an opening in the willows wide and flat enough for a tent. You’re a quarter mile from the road, from the speeding cars, the people, the big houses, the flat, manicured lawns of this horse farm suburb, but all you can see are willows and sky. All you can hear is the water running towards the Middle Fork, towards the Nooksack, and on towards the sea.

The creek rushes by. You’re a city dweller, used to traffic, to trains, to sirens, and dogs barking. Here, the noise of the water is so loud it quiets the night. In the morning you wake to birdsong. You make coffee on the campstove, retrieve a cinnamon roll, only slightly smashed, from the bear bag you strung up between two skinny alders. The sun rises over the trees. You pack up the tent and stove, wade, barefoot and grimacing, across the creek, scramble through willow and poplar, around the bramble thickets, and back to the road.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

Rain last night, and this morning the tops of the cedars are blurred by clouds. It’s officially spring, if not by the Julian calendar than by the forest: the nettles are up. Out past the back fence, past the thickets of rose and ironwood and the fallen willow, past the cedars and the cairn that marks the grave of Loki the dog, there’s a stand of alder. In the summer it’s all nettles, so thick you have to whack and high-step your way through and still you’ll emerge with ankles tingling. But right now the nettles are just a few leaves tall and tender, pushing up from the moss in patches. We had one pair of gloves between us; I took the right and E the left. I was clumsy at it, despite using my dominant hand, and kept accidentally pulling up the little plants when I meant only to pinch off their top leaves. E, being a farmer and much practiced at harvest, was quick and tidy. And if his bag was twice mine when we walked back through the moss and alders, past the cairn under the cedars, by the fallen willow and the thickets of the rose and ironwood, and through the back gate, well, everything went into the same pot in the end.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

Non-standard sleds tested or observed in Squalicum Park, in order of speed, from hot damn to don't bother:
1) white water kayak
2) is that an inflatable hot dog in a bun?
3) waxed cardboard box, folded flat
4) aluminum sheet pans, but afterwards they may be irredeemably lumpy and all your cookies will be crooked forever
5) laundry basket

Enjoy the snow while it lasts!

Sophie
Owner | Baker

Nothing new this week, but here's an interview I did on business and capitalism that went up last week on the Institute for Washington's Future and a newsletter reprint from December, 2017.

How to love the sky in winter

Here is my hypothesis: it isn’t the gray that makes our winters feel oppressive, it’s our built environment. If you spend your days working in an office from dark to dark, or tucked away in your house, hiding from the rain, these short, wet days are grim indeed. And when the sky presses low, as the asphalt presses up, and the walls of brick and stone and wood close in from all sides, I too feel trapped. But that, I think, is the fault of the asphalt and walls, and not the sky.
​
On wild winter days, when the wind blows hard and the rain comes down sideways and the damp cold slides deep into you and settles there to wait for spring, the city is a miserable place to be. But go out walking on the beach, along the dark strip of pebbles between seaweed and driftwood. Turn up your collar and lean into the wind till your eyes tear and your cheeks flush. Breath in the cold and brine. The sea is violent and alive, white caps racing for shore. The beach is strewn with treasures. Or trash. Bring a bag to collect the storm’s flotsam, whatever it may be.

And when the storm lifts, and the clouds race over you—altocumulus over cumulus, and the brief glimpse of the cirrus high above—those are the days for open spaces. The brown, stubbled fields of the Skagit Flats have their own, subtle beauty in winter, and above them, the sky is wide and bright, even on an overcast day.

But best of all are the low, gray days with their steady rain. In the city, the nimbostratus is a dull blanket, the rain inexhaustible and exhausting. But go out walking in the woods. Find old woods, if you can, with Douglas firs and red cedars wider than your outstretched arms, and an open understory. Layer up with wool and leave your rain coat behind. It’s hardly raining under the trees, more a dripping mist, and the plastic is loud. Without it, you can hear the forest: rain hitting the leaves of sword ferns, the wind breathing through the trees, and off and above, a raven chuckling. The low clouds catch on the hills and treetops, pooling and whisping away. If you stand still, in just the right place, you might even have a moment alone with the forest, no freeway rumble or flyover, no stereo boom or human voices, just the wind and rain moving over the landscape, and the quiet sound of your own breathing.

I heard crows mobbing and looked up for the threat. No raptor circling, but a liquid chuckle from the tall fir across the street. Ever since there are ravens everywhere. That black bird there, probing the lawn, perched on a low, swooping branch, strutting the roof gable, calling from the woods, flying a wedge-tail silhouette against the cold, blue sky. They must have been here all along but I only saw what I already knew: garrulous urban crows, and the occasional raven in the hills and forests out past the city’s edge.

Sophie
Owner | Baker

Orders are open for the LAST MARKET, Dec 19. We'll be closed for a month afterwards so stock up!

Red Wheat
Elwha River Spelt
Mountain Rye, cut or whole
Seedy Buckwheat, cut or whole
Vollkornbrot, cut or whole
Gingerbread & Pain d'Epices
Cookies & Shortbread

MENU for WEDNESDAY, DEC 9
Order by Sunday night for pickup the following Wednesday.
Pickups in Birchwood, Columbia, Lettered Streets, Happy Valley/Fairhaven

Red Wheat ($7.50)
Mountain Rye ($7.50)
Wild & Seedy "Toast" ($8)
Cookies: Chocolate Chip Hazelnut, Bittersweet Chocolate, or Gingersnap ($15 / 6)

Does it matter if we ride the bus, build a free library, buy goods from our neighbors instead of corporations, plant trees? Does it matter if we learn, protest, organize, vote, make art, donate our time and money? Does it matter if we shout our rage and grief for imperfect world we have and the imperfect world we’re making? No. You and I are two of eight billion. Yes. Individual action matters when it helps bend society towards change. Thank you for being good neighbors. Thank you for standing up, speaking out, and reaching for change. Thank you for living out loud and joyfully.

It’s a beautiful morning at the beginning of a beautiful day and I’m going to spend it out with friends in the hills and fields and quiet.

Enjoy the day and the market. It’s Hannah’s birthday, so be sure to wish her happy when you stop by the stand!

Sophie
Owner | Baker

P.S. As often happens when I’m filled with big emotions, I’ve been thinking these past anxious days about poetry. Here, if you’d like them, are two that read for me like a deep breath: an old favorite from William Stafford and a new favorite from Ada Limón.

TODAY AT MARKET and NEXT WEEK FOR MARKET PREORDER
10am – 2pm, 1100 Railroad Ave

With the changing season and new flour and I've been struggling to keep my fermentation on schedule. There are a lot of loaves with holes in them today, and even more loaves that might have holes (I had to stop cutting them in half to find out before I cut them all). Both--holed and possibly holed or whole loaves--are $6.50.

BREAD:
Red Wheat ($7.50 / 720g)
Elwha River Spelt ($8 / 750g)
Mountain Rye ($7.50 / 750g)
Vollkornbrot ($8 / 750g)
Seedy Buckwheat ($8 / 420g)
Bread 2nds ($6.50)

SWEETS:
Gingerbread Cake ($6-$16)
Gingersnap Cookies ($5 / 2)
Chocolate Chip Hazelnut Cookies ($5 / 2)
Bittersweet Chocolate Cookies ($5 / 2)
Brown Butter Shortbread ($9 / half dz)

FALL BREAD SUBSCRIPTION / WEEKLY PREORDERS
Order for the coming Wednesday or sign up for all the remaining Wednesdays through Dec 16.
Pickups in Birchwood, Columbia, Lettered Streets, Happy Valley/Fairhaven

RED WHEAT Subscription - whole wheat table bread
MOUNTAIN RYE Subscription - seedy rye & wheat
TOAST Subscription - a new tinned loaf every week
Nov 11 - Toasted Sesame
Nov 18 - Oat & Honey
Nov 25 - Rosemary Cornmeal
Dec - TBD

I could tell you all the reasons not to drive a car. I could tell you about noise, air, and water. I could tell you about environmental justice. I could tell you about oil wars, about fracking, about the existential threat of climate change. I could tell you about the squirrels, raccoons, rabbits, song birds, cats, and crows I pass daily, flattened on the road. Or the coyote, the beaver, the deer, and the fox laid out dead in the ditch. I could tell you about the barred owl I found yesterday on my way to work, about her soft, curled toes, her unruffled feathers, her pale face, her eyes, one closed to the sky, the other open to the pavement, unseeing.

But you know those stories. And besides, a bicycle isn’t an anti-car. It needs no negative justification. You should ride a bike* because it’s a delight; because your quads are strong, or will be, and feeling their power is a power in itself; because you can go so fast!; because the air above the creek is cool and wet; because on a warm night the scents bloom around you; because the sky is more beautiful than any ceiling. Riding your bike on a blue summer day is easy and sweet, but riding through a winter afternoon can be its own, uncomfortable kind of pleasure, your headlight cutting a wedge of raindrops into the dark, the wind in your face, the wet trickling cold down your collar. The comfort of the indoors is seductive, but does it make you feel alive? Does it make you laugh with wonder at the beauty of the day and your body moving through it?

You should ride a bike because you live here, in this place, in this weather, and you cannot love it from a distance, behind walls and windows. You should ride a bike just the joy of it.

* This imperative comes with qualifications: bicycles aren't accessible to everyone; good public transit is also essential.

TODAY AT MARKET and NEXT WEEK FOR MARKET PREORDER
10am – 2pm, 1100 Railroad Ave

BREAD:
Red Wheat ($7.50 / 720g)
Elwha River Spelt ($8 / 750g)
Mountain Rye ($7.50 / 750g)
Vollkornbrot ($8 / 750g)
Seedy Buckwheat ($8 / 420g)

SWEETS:
The Most Apple Cake ($5) made with rye and buckwheat and more apple than batter.
Gingersnap Cookies ($5 / 2)
Chocolate Chip Hazelnut Cookies ($5 / 2)
Bittersweet Chocolate Cookies ($5 / 2)
Brown Butter Shortbread ($9 / half dz)

FALL BREAD SUBSCRIPTION / WEEKLY PREORDERS
Every Wednesday Sept 2 - Dec 16
10 weeks remaining
Pickups in Birchwood, Columbia, Lettered Streets, Happy Valley/Fairhaven

RED WHEAT Subscription - whole wheat table bread
MOUNTAIN RYE Subscription - seedy rye & wheat
TOAST Subscription - a new tinned loaf every week
10/14 - Rosemary Cornmeal
10/21 - Multicereal
10/28 - Baked Apple
Nov - Dec TBD

Foggy again this morning, and I hope whatever your day holds you have a few minutes to sit quietly with your coffee and watch the world outside lighten blue to gray. Moments like this I wish I still had a child’s understanding of magic. There must be secrets hidden in the fog, doorways between the ghost trees that open to other worlds if only I weren’t too blinded by the mundane realities of adult life to see them.

Up in the mountains it's probably dawning bright, sunlight catching the deep red huckleberries, the larches aflame under a white blue sky. Last Sunday we walked Cutthroat. The colors and textures, the geology and botany are so beautifully different from those of the Western slope: pink granite and the soil pink with its sediment, thin forests of lodgepole, fir, and spruce, golden willows and golden larches.. There was snow dusting the ridge line. The sky moved fast: clear, then fat cumulonimbus sailing across the blue, thickening to full cloud cover that caught on the peaks, pouring over their rocky spines, then high, flat gray, and blue again.

We have lots of lovely baked goods for you this morning, whether you're spending the day in fog or sky. Hannah will be at market from 10 to 2, and I'll probably swing by on my ride south to Skagit. Maybe I'll see you there!

Sophie
Owner | Baker

TODAY AT MARKET and NEXT WEEK FOR MARKET PREORDER
10am – 2pm, 1100 Railroad Ave

BREAD:
Red Wheat ($7.50 / 720g)
  (Tinned Red Wheat 2nds with a hole in the middle ($6))
Elwha River Spelt ($8 / 750g)
Mountain Rye ($7.50 / 750g)
Vollkornbrot ($8 / 750g)
Seedy Buckwheat ($8 / 420g)

SWEETS:
The Last Plum Torte with cornmeal & rosemary ($5)
Apple Turnovers ($6) with a wheat/rye/buckwheat crust made with organic cultured butter AND lard from Well Fed Farms pastured pigs.
Gingersnap Cookies ($5 / 2)
Chocolate Chip Hazelnut Cookies ($5 / 2)
Bittersweet Chocolate Cookies ($5 / 2)
Brown Butter Shortbread ($9 / half dz)

FALL BREAD SUBSCRIPTION
Every Wednesday Sept 2 - Dec 16
11 weeks remaining
Pickups in Birchwood, Columbia, Lettered Streets, Happy Valley/Fairhaven

RED WHEAT Subscription - whole wheat table bread
MOUNTAIN RYE Subscription - seedy rye & wheat
TOAST Subscription - a new tinned loaf every week
10/7 - Roasted Squash
10/14 - Rosemary Cornmeal
10/21 - Multicereal
10/28 - Baked Apple
Nov - Dec TBD

NEXT WEDNESDAY PREORDER & PICKUP
Self-serve pickups in Birchwood, Columbia, Lettered Streets, and Fairhaven.
Address and directions with your pickup reminder email Wednesday morning.
Order by Sunday night.

Red Wheat
Mountain Rye
Toast: ROASTED SQUASH
Sweets: BITTERSWEET CHOCOLATE COOKIES & CHOCOLATE CHIP HAZELNUT COOKIES