What the Rain Revealed
The Forecast
Yesterday began with uncertainty.
Every weather app seemed to tell a different story. One predicted a fifty-five percent chance of rain. Another insisted it was nearly eighty percent. The sky overhead didn't seem interested in either forecast. It was dark, heavy, and waiting.
My son and I arrived at the market around six o'clock to begin setting up, hoping we could beat whatever weather was coming.
We couldn't.
Within minutes, the skies opened.
Not with a passing summer shower, but with rain that can only be described as Biblical.
Thunder echoed across the market. Lightning flashed overhead. Nearly three-quarters of an inch of rain fell in what felt like moments. Water pooled on the tops of our tents, threatening to collapse them if we didn't keep pushing it off. Bread became wet. Tables had to be moved. Boxes were hurried beneath tables. Everyone was scrambling.
For a few moments, it was absolute chaos.
Where My Attention Went
It's interesting what storms reveal.
Standing there in the middle of it, I wasn't thinking about whether I would sell bread.
I wasn't thinking about another sellout.
I wasn't even thinking about my own booth.
I looked around and realized other vendors needed help.
Without saying much, my son and I started moving from booth to booth, helping wherever we could. Holding tents. Moving tables. Checking on neighbors. Making sure products weren't blowing away or floating away.
There wasn't time to ask who needed help.
You simply helped the person standing in front of you.
Looking back, I think that's what community looks like.
Not when the skies are blue.
When they're anything but.
The Calm After the Storm
Then, almost as quickly as it had begun...
It stopped.
The thunder faded.
The rain gave way to quiet.
Every one of us was soaked.
We wrung out our shirts, took a deep breath, and began setting our booths back up as though nothing had happened.
And then something remarkable happened.
People came.
Despite the weather.
Despite the uncertainty.
They came.
Keeping Their Word
My very first customers were a family who, three weeks ago, had asked if I would have my seeded loaves.
I told them I would.
They smiled and said they would be back.
Yesterday, they kept their word.
They walked up wearing rain jackets, carrying umbrellas, smiling as though the storm had simply been part of the adventure.
As I handed them their bread, emotion caught me by surprise.
I thanked them through tears.
I apologized that the loaves had gotten a little wet and offered them at a discount.
They declined.
They didn't hesitate.
They simply smiled, took the bread, thanked me, and wished me a wonderful market.
That small exchange meant more to me than I can adequately explain.
What the Rain Revealed
I've spent a great deal of time writing about what sourdough has taught me.
Patience.
Consistency.
Trust.
Showing up.
Yesterday, the lesson came from somewhere else.
The rain revealed generosity.
It revealed neighbors who instinctively cared for one another before caring for themselves.
It revealed customers who remembered a conversation from three weeks earlier and kept their promise.
It revealed that trust is built quietly, one conversation, one loaf, one Saturday at a time.
Yesterday also reminded me why I started Art of The Crumb.
Yes, I love baking bread.
I love the science behind fermentation. I love the rhythm of mixing dough before the sun comes up. I love pulling beautiful loaves from the oven.
But what I love most has very little to do with bread.
I love the people.
The conversations.
The familiar faces returning week after week.
The opportunity to serve my community in ways that extend far beyond what sits on the table.
Yesterday, I sold out again.
But somewhere between the thunder, the soaked tents, the wet loaves, the helping hands, and the tears of gratitude, I realized something.
I thought I was building a bakery.
What has quietly been growing all along is a community.
And that...
was the greatest gift yesterday revealed.
Warmly,
Kathy
Art of The Crumb