Baker’s Time

I grew up in a town of a only a thousand people. One main street, two blocks long, the usual shops — and being a resort area, an assortment of stores that we called “tourist traps”. One of my favorite places was the local bakery, a business that had been in the same family for more than just one generation.  I loved it because the baked goods were simply wonderful and because we were so lucky to have an actual bakery in our very small town.  And I also loved it because the man who owned the bakery lived just two houses down the street from us.  Every morning as our family sat down to breakfast, I would see him on his way home from the overnight preparation of delicious baked goods. There was something very grounding about seeing him stride past our window each morning at the same time, something that made me feel that everything was starting off as it should be. It was an important anchor for my day.  Some people live on borrowed time, I like to think I grew up on Baker’s Time.