Something Is Taking Root

The Feeling That Stopped Me

While baking and preparing for Saturday’s market, I was standing at the counter with my hands deep in the dough.

Flour dusted across the surface.
The dough soft, alive, stretching beneath my fingers as I folded it over itself.

There’s a rhythm to it…
press, lift, fold, turn.

And right there, in the middle of that movement, something shifted.

A wave of feeling came over me—so strong I had to stop.

My hands paused mid-fold, resting on the dough as if it could hold what I was feeling.

It wasn’t just one emotion.

It was a flood.

Joy.
Gratitude.
Excitement.
Peace.
Love.

They came all at once, rising up from somewhere deep, unexpected and undeniable.

I stepped back, wiped my hands, and wrote them down.

Because it felt important.

Too important to let pass.

Naming What Is Forming

I stood there for a moment longer, the kitchen quiet except for the soft creak of the house and the hum of the oven warming.

The dough waited.

And so did I.

Because something in me knew…this wasn’t just about baking anymore.

The work I am doing is becoming something deeper than work.

There is something forming inside of me.

Not rushed.
Not forced.
But steady.

Like the dough beneath my hands.

Maybe it is becoming.
Maybe it is peace.
Maybe it is landing.

Whatever it is, I can feel it taking shape.

The People Who Show Up

Later, at the market, that same feeling stayed with me.

It moved from my kitchen…to my table…to the people who stood in front of me.

An older couple approached.

You could see it in their faces before they even spoke—hope mixed with expectation.

They had come for the rye.

Two loaves.

They told me they had brought it home the week before and couldn’t stop talking about it. They were on their way to Texas to visit their daughter and wanted to bring it with them…something to share, something to pass along.

And I didn’t have it.

I watched their faces shift.

Not dramatically.
Just enough.

A quiet disappointment.

And I felt it immediately.

It landed in my chest in a way I wasn’t expecting.

Because this has never just been about bread.

It’s about what people carry with them.
What they share.
What connects them.

I promised them I would have their loaves next time.

But as they walked away, I stood there for a moment longer than usual.

Feeling it.

The Other Side of Giving

Not long after, a woman came to the table.

She moved slowly, taking it all in.

I offered her a sample.

Then another.

She smiled, asked questions, lingered.

Her hands rested lightly on the table as she spoke, like she wasn’t quite ready to leave.

Then she asked about the price.

And in that moment, I knew.

She told me she didn’t have enough…that she would come back.

But I could feel it.

So I reached for a loaf, placed it in her hands, and said it was my gift.

It wasn’t planned.

It wasn’t a decision I thought through.

It just felt right.

And she received it with a kind of quiet gratitude that stayed with me long after she walked away.

Familiar Rhythms

Then there were the familiar faces.

The woman who comes every Saturday for baguettes.

This time, she brought her sister.

And friends.

There’s a rhythm to that, too.

People returning.
Bringing others.
Sharing something they’ve found.

The bread bags—once again—moved quickly from the table, one after another, hands reaching, conversations flowing.

And yes…

By the end of the morning, I had sold out.

But It’s Not About That

I packed up slowly.

Not rushed.

Not driven by the numbers.

Because it’s not about that for me.

Not really.

What is evolving is something I never expected when I began this journey.

Something I couldn’t have planned, even if I tried.

Find Your Sourdough

This is the part I mean when I say:

Find your sourdough.

Not the bread.

But the thing.

The thing that meets you where you are…
and gently, steadily, brings you back to yourself.

For me, it started with flour and water.

But it became something else.

A rhythm.
A practice.
A place to land when everything else felt uncertain.

And somewhere in that process…

Something in me began to heal.

What I Know Now

There is something taking root.

Not just in the dough I shape each week…
but in me.

In the quiet moments.
In the exchanges at the table.
In the giving and receiving.

And for the first time in a long time…

I feel it.

I am not searching.

I am not striving.

I am here.

Warmly~
Kathy
Art of The Crumb