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All along the top dock lines ran from the railing down to colorful floats, disappearing into the opaque water. The sky was scudded with clouds and hazy, so that the blue water and the blue sky and the blue islands were soft and dreamy like a watercolor painting. Bicycles passed, weaving between pedestrians. Families strolled by with children and small dogs, laughing in Spanish too quick for me to understand. A man rowed up in a tiny wooden dingy with a giant poodle riding the prow and the two of them followed the laughing families up and away. Children climbed onto the high railing, posing till parents or passersby took notice, before flinging their bodies out between the floats. The dock was cheerful and alive in the golden light of evening. A man walked up from the floating dock holding a fish by the gills, trailed by a round little girl in a startlingly hot pink bikini. I didn’t understand what he held till he dropped the dogfish onto the dock. It fought the concrete, trying to swim the air, gasping. The child crouched beside it, poking the shark back onto its bloody belly when it rolled. The man stood over her, arms crossed, while other men walked over to admire the catch and take pictures with their cell phones. “Will you eat it?” someone asked, curious and slightly appalled. “No,” the little girl answered, laughing, "of course not." When the shark finally stilled the man toed it straight and walked back to his line. My friend and I watched this small, casual violence from the same bench where we had sat, sunning dry after a swim, talking about small things and watching the clouds and the families and the man rowing his poodle across the bay. We tried to turn away. We tried to turn back to our conversation. But in the end we looked on in silence. When the man left, we stood and picked up our shoes. The round little girl in her hot pink bikini was still crouched by the dead shark when we walked away. Sophie Owner | Baker TODAY AT MARKET Red & White Rosemary Potato Mountain Rye Vollkornbrot Seedy Buckwheat Malted Chocolate Chip Cookie Bittersweet Chocolate Cookie Gingersnap Oat Scone Shortbread All Berry Slab Pie Wednesday bread this week: Red & White, Mountain Rye, Baker's Choice: TOASTED SESAME Sign up for the LATE SUMMER BREAD SUBSCRIPTION Every Wednesday, August 7 - September 25  We went into the mountains, walking through forest, across alpine meadows, and up onto the high heather. On the knob of Yellow Aster Butte I turned and turned: Baker and Shuksan were hazy to the south, the teeth of the Skagit Range to the east, and just across the valley America Border Peak rose sharp and rust stained from Tomyhoi Lake. Below the butte we followed crisscrossing desire lines to the deepest of the alpine lakes and dove into the clear, cold water. Afterward, we lay quiet on the rocks like sunning snakes. I came down from the mountains brighter, my mind clear as the lake water. I was made of muscle and bone and wonder. Love for the land, for my Northwestern home, expanded in my chest, squeezing worry and self-doubt and the anxiety of Sisyphusian to-do lists down to their small and proper size. After the mountains, the city felt flat and slightly unreal. Inside the boxes of buildings there was no sky, no wind, no rain squalls, no air. Outside the walls, asphalt and turf grass hid the earth. The visceral wonder that had filled me softened and settled into memory. Worries and doubts grew back into the spaces it left behind. Under the bright, fluorescent lights of the kitchen I felt my mountain brightness dimming. At the end of a long day of baking, hungry for the sky, I took my dinner out back behind the house and sat on top of the picnic table facing the garden. The garden is fenced with fishing nets we salvaged from a net dumpster at the marina and hung like a shower curtain on wire stapled between scrap wood posts. The first fence we built was eight feet at the corners, sagging to six at the nadir of the wire’s parabola. All last summer and fall we found hoof prints postholing through newly planted beds. One morning I walked out to find the bean vines stripped naked, all the leaves bitten away. This spring we rehung the net ten feet high at the corners. The beans are lush with leaves and red flowers. I admired the riot of flowers as the light faded: the scarlet runner beans, the banks of volunteer borage and calendula, the cascading nasturtiums, and the sturdy sunflowers standing sentry over the beds. When I heard her steps in the dry grass I stilled, waiting. She passed ten feet in front of me. Every few steps she turned dark eyes and those big, expressive ears towards me, wary but unafraid. I didn't move. At the fence she stopped, nose to the net, gazing for long minutes into the feast of irrigated green. Mule deer are nearly as common as grey squirrels here at the edge of the city. She was unremarkable and very beautiful. The wonder swelled inside me. See you soon. Sophie Owner | Baker TODAY AT MARKET Red & White Rosemary Potato Mountain Rye Vollkornbrot Seedy Buckwheat Malted Chocolate Chip Cookie Bittersweet Chocolate Cookie Gingersnap Oat Scone Shortbread Blackberry Apricot Slab Pie Wednesday bread this week: Red & White, Mountain Rye, Baker's Choice: WILD & SEEDY Sign up for the LATE SUMMER BREAD SUBSCRIPTION Every Wednesday, August 7 - September 25  I took the long way home. The night was wet and so warm I rolled my sleeves up above the elbow and undid the buttons at my neck while I waited at a stoplight. After the day’s heat, scents bloomed in the light rain. I rode open mouthed, tasting the city on my tongue. I wanted to remember each night smell, I wanted to find the adjectives and metaphors to hold them, but they were subtle and I was moving too fast. Between one breath and the next, they changed and were gone. See you soon. Sophie Owner | Baker TODAY AT MARKET Red & White Herb & Olive Oil Mountain Rye Vollkornbrot Seedy Buckwheat Malted Chocolate Chip Cookie Bittersweet Chocolate Cookie Gingersnap Oat Scone Shortbread Strawberry Rhubarb Slab Pie Wednesday bread this week: Red & White, Mountain Rye, Baker's Choice: MILK & HONEY  “Why do you bike?” she asked me. The question shouldn’t have taken me by surprise, but it did. “Because I like to,” I replied, reaching out for more words and coming back empty-handed. The conversation moved on. As answers go, it was true enough, but thoroughly inadequate. Never mind noise and air pollution, never mind the costs of transit infrastructure and public health, never mind livable cities and public safety, never mind geopolitics and oil. Those are all good stories, true stories. I could have told any of them. Or I could have finished the story I’d begun, had I not gone mind-empty and tongue-tied. Here is the story: I like to bicycle. I like having half an hour inside the world and its weather, with the wind and sunshine and the driving rain against my face, with the sky opening above me and the smells of the city—woodsmoke, the chemical choke of fabric softener from a dryer vent, petrichor, cut grass, the bloom of night flowers, the secret wilderness of water and forest under the Dupont bridge—blowing by, even if I spend the rest of the day shut up inside a wood and concrete box. And I like the mechanical efficiency of cycling: the way muscle translates so effortlessly into speed. I like the freedom a bicycle’s speed and size gives me to explore off the city’s arteries and into the winding capillaries of the neighborhoods, with an eye out for pocket parks and abandoned fruit trees. I like the rush of descent, crouched low, waiting, waiting, waiting, faster, and braking just in time for the intersection. I like bicycling as a small, daily act of thanksgiving: for a body that is strong and capable, for the day, for the city, for the minutes between one task and another, when all I need to do is pedal and breath and watch out for homicidal drivers. See you soon. Sophie Owner | Baker TODAY AT MARKET Red & White Herb & Olive Oil Mountain Rye Vollkornbrot Seedy Buckwheat Malted Chocolate Chip Cookie Bittersweet Chocolate Cookie Gingersnap Oat Scone Shortbread Strawberry Rhubarb Slab Pie Wednesday bread this week: Red & White, Mountain Rye, Baker's Choice: SPICED RING RYE!   Sixty degrees and overcast: now this is proper Northwestern summer weather. The hot, clear days through April and May and early June were lovely, but felt foreign and vaguely ominous. When I was a child, it rained through the 4th of July. A hyperbole of memory, I'm sure, but how many parades did we shiver through during those island summers, watching the old cars and the floats roll past and scrambling for the saltwater taffy the riders tossed into the thin crowd? TODAY AT MARKET Red & White Herb & Olive Oil Mountain Rye Vollkornbrot Seedy Buckwheat Malted Chocolate Chip Cookie Bittersweet Chocolate Cookie Oat Scone Shortbread Strawberry Rhubarb Slab Pie Sign up for the Summer Bread Subscription through July 31 RED & WHITE Subscription $49 MOUNTAIN RYE Subscription $49 BAKER's CHOICE Subscription $56 Wednesday bread this week: Red & White, Mountain Rye, Baker's Choice: FARMER RYE (a crackled rye boule with wheat, buckwheat, and corn!)  (accidentally candid self portrait on the loading dock because I lost track of the camera timer) After long hours cocooned in the fluorescent, time-warping glare of the commissary I stepped out onto the loading dock and woke up for the first time all day. There, for a few minutes, I had the low sun heating my back and the breeze against my skin. I had the sounds of traffic and sea gulls and the busker on the corner. Beneath the breeze I could smell the alley: sewer and garbage and the restaurant a few doors down. And suddenly I was close to tears, the grief caught in my throat as I held my breath against the pressure in my eyes. The whole day gone and I had missed it. A small grief, this lost day, but I stood with it for a moment longer, remembering to breath, remembering the feel and sight and taste of the outside, remembering the sun and the world turning, before I went back in to work. See you soon. Sophie Owner | Baker TODAY AT MARKET Red & White Herb & Olive Oil Mountain Rye Vollkornbrot Seedy Buckwheat Malted Chocolate Chip Cookie Bittersweet Chocolate Cookie Oat Scone Shortbread Strawberry Rhubarb Slab Pie! (though I don't know how this will hold up in pastry bags. BYO bowl and fork, perhaps?) Sign up for the Summer Bread Subscription through July 31 RED & WHITE Subscription $49 MOUNTAIN RYE Subscription $49 BAKER's CHOICE Subscription $56 Wednesday bread this week: Red & White, Mountain Rye, Baker's Choice: Polenta  When the last of the loaves were cooled and packed away, when the floors were mopped, the tables wiped down, the dishes cleared from the rack, I biked home. I was tired, footsore, worrying about the work still undone and the weekend’s weather report. To the east clouds crowded against the foothills. To the west the sky opened. The light was low and warm, setting the firs and the bare branches of the maples aglow against the rain-dark sky. Colors swelled around me, pulling my out of my head and into the world: grape hyacinth blue as the cloak on a Renaissance Madonna, the exuberant green of unfolding leaves, silver bark, the cream white of a wildly blooming magnolia, the crows on the power line so black they could have been cut from the sky. There is a time late in the day that painters and photographers call the Golden Hour, when the colors are so true they feel like “some tragic falling off from a first world of undivided light.” If I could go out walking every morning and evening to catch that perfect light I would, but I’d settle for watching the day change through big windows. I haven’t yet found any promising spaces for a bakery, and the dearth of options is a sliver of panic through my daydreams and plans. Keep an eye out for me, will you? Big windows, a walkable neighborhood, three phase, gas, and venting, room to grow, a good landlord: all of those would be nice, but I’d make due with one or two. After last weekend’s warm sunshine today’s weather is looking decidedly unfavorable, but come down to the first farmers market of the season to say hello anyway. It’s spring in the Pacific Northwest, after all. Rain is to be expected. See you soon. Sophie Owner | Baker TODAY AT MARKET Red & White Mountain Rye + Vollkornbrot Ring Rye (from the winter bread subscription) Seedy Buckwheat (a recipe from my winter bakery tour, incidentally cereal-free) Chocolate Malt Chocolate Chip Cookie (Bittersweet Chocolate Cookies back next week, after I receive my Theo order) Gingersnap Scone Hazelnut + Sour Cherry Cake Brown Butter + Nibby Buckwheat Shortbread WEDNESDAY BREAD Sign up through the end of May or order a single loaf. Red & White Mountain Rye Spiced Honey Rye  Late February already, and the crocuses push up through the moss and grass, violet and yellow against the brightening green. The birds are all out at once: robins probing the lawn, warblers gossiping in the hedgerows, mallards and mergansers crowding the water, and in the stubbled fields flocks of swans browse, their necks bent like white question marks to the untilled earth. Skiing last weekend over Lightening Lake I squinted into the cold, trying to read the shape of the land in the flat light. The snow was depthless, the hills on either side dark and close, the sky low. The landscape felt too austere for beauty after the noise and exuberance of our temperate spring. But when the sky opened on a patch of western blue and the low sun lit the clouds’ heavy bellies warm gold, lit the hills and lake, lit my face and chest and the cold fronts of my thighs, I stood still, caught by the light. Sophie Owner | Baker THIS WEEK's WEDNESDAY BREAD Order by Sunday night to pick up Wednesday, Feb 27 Red & White Mountain Rye Baker's Choice: Quince & Rye THE LAST WEDNESDAY BREAD (till April) Order this week for pickup Wednesday, Mar 6 Red & White Mountain Rye Baker's Choice: Black Bread Order ONLINE and pickup on Wednesdays from: Downtown: Cafe Velo, 120 Prospect, 9am - 7pm Fairhaven: Shirlee Bird Cafe, 1200 Harris, 7:30am - 5pm Birchwood: the front step, 8am - 8pm  I won’t always write about walking. As summer approaches the work begins to tighten around my days, squeezing out the spare hours till moving through the world becomes purely functional: cycling for transportation, running for exercise, driving for hauling impossible loads or covering impossible distances. Then I’ll write about baking, or cycling, or perhaps running. But now, in the slow heart of winter, I have time to walk. The time I take to walk without direction is often the truest part of my day. The chores and routine work, the hours absorbed by the blue glow of my screens, the casual interactions with friends and strangers, these so easily blur till the days slip by into unremembered months. Perhaps what I find in walking is the sort of moving meditation others seek in yoga or martial arts. Walking brings time into focus, makes me fully embodied and awake to my surroundings. Already, most of the hours I spent indoors yesterday are slipping from my memory, but I remember so well the yellow of the willow branches and the clean cut of snow against wet pebbles at the high tide line. I remember the cold of the wind and the heat of my body. I remember the sound of wings, and looking up to see crows silhouetted against the white blue sky, flying north. Sophie Owner | Baker THIS WEEK's WEDNESDAY BREAD Order by Sunday night to pick up Wednesday, Feb 20 Red & White Mountain Rye Baker's Choice: Sour Ring Bread NEXT WEEK's WEDNESDAY BREAD Order this week for pickup Wednesday, Feb 27 Red & White Mountain Rye Baker's Choice: undecided Order ONLINE and pickup on Wednesdays from: Downtown: Cafe Velo, 120 Prospect, 9am - 7pm Fairhaven: Shirlee Bird Cafe, 1200 Harris, 7:30am - 5pm Birchwood: the front step, 8am - 8pm   We walked out of the forest and down the lee side of the spit. The water was the same dense gray as the sky, the islands dark and snow dusted, disappearing into fog where sky and water merged. Two skiffs out in the bay passed close enough for conversation, but from shore we could hear nothing but the wind and gulls. The beach’s contours had changed since the last time I’d walked this way at low tide. The point, when we reached it, was flat and broad where before had been a sharp, current-rippled ridge of sand and pebble. Out of the land’s shelter the wind took us hard. I balled my hands into fists in my pockets as I looked out over the channel, the water an eerie, pale green and frothing white. Birds flocked this shore, the gulls swooping up to drop shells onto the rocks, the ducks crowding the sandy flats, facing into the surf. They lifted up before us, resettling as soon as we’d passed. The wind was picking up, cutting cold through my heavy coat and hat, icing my fingers, stiffening my face. The waves had thrown up new driftwood above the tide line and scattered shells that showed secret purple and mother of pearl green against the dark sand. Down the beach, something large and white stood at the edge of the driftwood. We followed the footsteps of other curious walkers to investigate. The shape sharpened into a padlocked sail chest, a single tie line hanging down its side. In the summer the beach is littered with plastic, but the winter empties the sea of casual boaters and their trash. The chest was the was the only jetsam we found on that whole wild shore. Back at the forest’s edge we turned away from the wind and towards an unexpected piece of abstract art: the wind had painted snow into icy, white racing stripes up the windward side of each exposed tree. Glancing back, I found the forest behind us was dark. Before us, the bold white stripes shone and swayed. A few paces into the trees and the quiet closed around us. The air was still. I took my hands out of my pockets and flexed my fingers. High above, the treetops twisted, shaking down snow flurries. Above the trees, a raven played the storm, wing dipping and rolling, skimming the air, before swinging around in a broad arc to ride down the wind and out of sight. Sophie Owner | Baker THIS WEEK's WEDNESDAY BREAD Order by Sunday night to pick up Wednesday, Feb 13 Red & White Mountain Rye Baker's Choice: Tinned Rye with Raisins & Walnuts - inspired by the rugbrod so many of you loved a few weeks back. 100% Whatcom grown (except for the salt). Happy Valentines! NEXT WEEK's WEDNESDAY BREAD Order this week for pickup Wednesday, Feb 20 Red & White Mountain Rye Baker's Choice: Sour Ring Bread - the daily bread of Finland WINTER BREAD SUBSCRIPTION 4 weeks left! RED & WHITE subscription MOUNTAIN RYE subscription BAKER's CHOICE subscription: a new rye every week Order ONLINE and pickup on Wednesdays from: Downtown: Cafe Velo, 120 Prospect, 9am - 7pm Fairhaven: Shirlee Bird Cafe, 1200 Harris, 7:30am - 5pm Birchwood: the front step, 8am - 8pm |
