Sometimes, when the world starts to get me down, I just have to go into the music room and play piano. Music is a sweet salve to my soul. Other times, I need to hit a nature trail or lose myself in the woods to find solace and balance.

And then there are those times when I wake up at the crack of dawn, head to the kitchen and start baking bread. I love to take my time mixing the ingredients – to find the perfect meditation only a practiced kneading rhythm can bring – to hum along to Eva Cassidy while cleaning the kitchen as the dough rises – to wait with eager anticipation as the oven does its special alchemy… and finally, to share the finished loaf with people I love and who bring me great joy.

And for a blessed moment, the world doesn’t seem so bad after all.

My Mom, Betsy Oppenneer, was a red-headed Southern Belle from Sautee Nacoochee, GA. She and Dad moved around a lot eventually settling in New Hampshire. Well, you can take a girl out of the south, but you can’t take the South out of the girl. Here’s a note I left her while editing her cookbook The Bread Book circa 1993…

“Personal note from me. Do you realize that you always capitalize South but never North or East? Are you trying to declare the South’s supremacy?”