Twenty Thousand People and One Baker

A New Place, A Familiar Feeling
Last night I attended a mandatory meeting for vendors at the Clarksville Farmers Market.

We gathered at the Clarksville Event Center—a place I had never been before, in a part of town still unfamiliar to me. Tennessee has a way of surprising me, and this was no exception. The building was filled with light. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Cumberland River and the marina, and before anything even began, I felt myself settle.

It was quiet in me.

Which surprised me, because I had walked in carrying a little bit of nervousness. Old habits don’t disappear overnight. They soften. They loosen. But every now and then, they still try to find their way back in.

Among Those Who Have Done This Before
There were around seventy-five vendors in the room, maybe more. Some seasoned, some new. I could feel the difference without anyone saying a word.

And then the meeting began.

Kindness That Lowers the Noise
The director of the market stood at the front of the room and walked us through the details of market days. What struck me most wasn’t just the information, it was the way she delivered it.

Kindness.
Patience.
Grace.

She created space for questions, and without hesitating, I raised my hand.

The Courage to Ask Anyway
Immediately, I felt that familiar awareness, wondering if I was asking something too simple. The kind of question seasoned vendors already knew. I could almost feel the quiet impatience of those ready to head home after a long day.

But she didn’t rush me.

Instead, she walked over, turned off her microphone, and let me ask my question quietly. No spotlight. No pressure. Just a moment of understanding.

Then she turned the microphone back on and said,
“That’s a really good question.”

And she answered it for everyone.

Just like that, what I had worried might be foolish became something useful. Something worth saying out loud.

It was a small moment.
But it stayed with me.

Still Learning, Still Letting Go
At 65, I am still learning how much time I’ve spent worrying about things that never needed my worry in the first place.

And as the meeting continued, I found myself settling into that truth.

When the Numbers Get Big
Toward the end of the meeting, the conversation shifted to the Fourth of July weekend.

The market will still be open. Vendors can stay longer. There will be celebrations, events, a full day of activity. This year marks the 250th anniversary of our country, and the city is preparing in a big way.

Then she said it.

They are expecting over twenty thousand people.

Twenty thousand.

The Mind Moves Faster Than the Moment
I felt it immediately: that shift. The mind moving ahead of the moment. Trying to calculate. Trying to control. Trying to prepare for something months away.

How many loaves?
How much dough?
How many hours?
What if I don’t have enough?
What if I have too much?

It happens quickly.

One moment you are sitting peacefully in a sunlit room, and the next you are somewhere in the future, trying to solve a day that hasn’t arrived.

Returning to What Grounds Me
This is where the practice comes in.

I breathe.
I pray.
I step back.

Because I know this pattern. Sobriety has taught me to recognize it for what it is. Not preparation. Not wisdom.

Fear, trying to take the lead.

And I don’t live that way anymore.

There is a difference between planning and spiraling. One keeps you present. The other pulls you away from it.

The Night That Didn’t Bring Rest
Last night, I didn’t sleep much. My mind tried to build that day from start to finish, over and over again.

But somewhere in the quiet, the truth returned.

I don’t have to figure out July today.

I just have to show up for what’s in front of me.

What Bread Keeps Teaching Me
Sourdough has never responded well to panic.

You cannot rush fermentation.
You cannot force a rise.
You cannot control every outcome.

You tend to it.
You stay consistent.
And then you let time—and something greater than you—do the rest.

My life is no different.

Staying in Today’s Work
Today, I have a Friday bake.

Tomorrow, an even bigger one.

That is what is in front of me.

So today, I will mix, fold, shape, and bake. I will do the work that is mine to do and leave the rest where it belongs.

Who Is Really Leading
I have a role in this.

But I am not in charge of everything.

I may be rowing the boat…
but God is the one setting the course.

And that, once again, is enough.

Warmly,
Kathy
Art of the Crumb