Late-Night Bread: Choosing Care Over Convenience on the Farm
It’s 11 PM. Everyone is asleep. The kitchen smells like flour and yeast, and my hands are sticky. The first two loaves of bread are just now going into the oven, with 4 more behind them, waiting. And yet, I wouldn’t trade this for the extra hours of sleep.
Most days, it would be so easy to give in. I juggle a full-time job with long commutes. I am the primary homemaker, and have a toddler and a husband deserving of attention. Behind it all, animals and a business all demand my attention well into darkness. And yet, in a world where pre-sliced bread could save me hours, I choose to knead by hand. But convenience is a slippery slope, and I truly believe we pay for our health at the end of the day, so I just bake the bread in the hours after the sun has set and my daughter is in bed for the night.
It doesn’t get any fresher.
This loaf was so fresh when I cut it to make grilled cheese, it was still gently steaming.
You see, I choose to pay the price for the health of myself and my family in hours and hard work, kneading loaf after loaf by hand until my shoulders shake with exhaustion. And within this slower path, I find so much more connection that comes from creating something with intention. It’s not just about the bread. It’s about choosing to show up when it is so much easier not to. The ideals of care, commitment, passion, and stubbornness that keep not only this farm, but my business, running don’t stop at the chicken coop. So, I show up to bake bread well into nightfall because that’s the choice, and you have to just keep pushing for the things that you believe in so deeply you can feel them pounding in your chest to break free.
Then, the next day at lunch, we made a grilled cheese sandwich with fresh bread made from wholesome ingredients, and my daughter exclaims, “Wow! This is really good,” and my heart swells with fulfillment. The moment that time and energy is met with gratitude and nourishment make every hour mean something. That is the power of growing food slowly, with care and attention. I love to proclaim to people when they are eating food that came from our farm, usually just my husband and daughter who already know my daily struggles. From meat to vegetables to bread, there is something incredible about nurturing life through the roots that run so deep on this land.
Some nights, the world sleeps while I knead dough. And in those quiet hours, I remember why we farm: for care, for love, for the life we are quietly building with our own hands.