One Month to Market
Where Preparation Meets Everything I’ve Learned
There is a date on my calendar that I keep returning to.
May 9.
Opening day at the farmers market.
And today, I am exactly one month away.
Holding Excitement and Nerves Together
There is a feeling that lives in this space.
Not just excitement.
Not just nerves.
Both.
A quiet awareness that something I have been working toward is now close enough to touch.
Some moments, I feel ready.
Other moments, I feel the weight of what is coming.
More loaves.
More people.
More responsibility.
And then I remind myself—this is what I’ve been preparing for.
Preparation Isn’t New
This past year has been preparation.
Every loaf.
Every lesson.
Every mistake that taught me something I couldn’t have learned any other way.
None of it was wasted.
Now, preparation is simply becoming more visible.
It’s not just about learning how to bake anymore.
It’s about learning how to sustain it.
Building a Workflow That Supports Me
I’ve been thinking a lot about workflow.
How to move through the process with intention instead of urgency.
What needs to happen first.
What can happen later.
What truly needs my full attention.
Because when market day comes, there won’t be space to figure it out in the moment.
The rhythm has to be built beforehand.
So I am practicing that now.
Refining the order.
Simplifying where I can.
Letting the process become something I can trust.
Learning to Trust a Baking Schedule
Sourdough has taught me that timing matters.
So I am building a schedule I can rely on.
When to feed the starter.
When to mix.
When to fold.
When to rest.
When to bake.
And just as importantly, learning to stick to it.
Not perfectly.
But consistently.
Because consistency creates calm.
And calm is something I will need when things begin to move faster.
Scaling Without Losing the Heart of It
I’ve also been spending time researching.
Looking at recipes differently now.
Not just what works—but what works at scale.
What holds up when I’m baking more than a few loaves.
What maintains structure, flavor, and integrity.
Because I don’t want to lose what made this meaningful in the first place.
I don’t just want to make more bread.
I want to make bread that still feels like mine.
Looking Ahead to the Week Before
I can already sense that final week approaching.
There will be details to finalize.
Ingredients to double-check.
Schedules to tighten.
A rhythm to settle into.
But more than anything, it will be a week of grounding.
Not adding more.
Not overcomplicating.
Just trusting what I already know.
Using All the Tools I’ve Been Given
This is the reminder I keep coming back to.
I already have the tools I need.
Yes, the ones in my kitchen.
The scale.
The bannetons.
The oven.
The counter where all of this has taken shape.
But also the tools that matter even more.
The ones I’ve built quietly over this past year.
The discipline to show up.
The patience to wait.
The awareness to slow down when things feel uncertain.
The tools of my faith.
The practices of my sobriety.
The ways I have learned to stay grounded, even when life feels uncertain.
Those are the tools I will carry into this next season.
One Loaf at a Time
It is easy to look ahead and feel the pressure.
To think about numbers.
Expectations.
Everything that could go wrong.
But that is not where this work lives.
This work lives here.
In the next loaf.
In the next step.
In the next moment of paying attention.
That is how this began.
And that is how it will continue.
Closing Reflection
A month from now, I will be standing at the market.
Tables set.
Bread laid out.
People walking by.
And whatever that day brings, I know this:
I will not arrive there by accident.
I will arrive there shaped by every quiet moment that came before it.
So for now, I keep preparing.
I keep practicing.
I keep trusting.
And I remind myself, gently and often:
You already have what you need.
Warmly,
Kathy
Art of The Crumb