With the flour all measured out and in the bowl, it was time for the warm water. Mom carefully measured the water and then began mixing it. In the very early years of bread making, she mixed it by hand. Later, she had a mixer. It was always fun to see the flour and water combine together into a runny paste. We couldn’t resist dipping our fingers in for a taste. It was good!
Then came time for the salt, oil, honey, yeast, and more flour.
After mixing these ingredients, my mom dumped it all out onto the table where she started to knead the dough. None of us were big enough, nor strong enough, to knead the bread, and we were fascinated by our mom’s skill. In a few minutes that sticky half-mixed glob of goo was transformed into nice, smooth bread dough.
While it was rising, we went to doing other things in the house, but as soon as it was time to divide the dough into loaves, we suddenly reassembled back at the table. My mom took the dough out of the large bowl it was rising in, dumped it on the table, kneaded it again, then cut it into sections. She gave each of us a part of the dough to work on while she greased the bread pans.
It was fun to work with the dough. It was just like playdough. We would smash it with our fists, roll it out into little balls or ropes, throw it in the air, or play catch with it. Then we would try to make it into our own loaf. When mom was done with the grease, she would come around and help us get our loaves ready for the pans. She seemed to know how to make them so round and smooth. To her it was easy.
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