“You need to learn to make dough.”
She would say this
as she gathered the needed ingredients and supplies.
Flour
Salt
Baking powder and
Lukewarm water.
“This is how you make dough.”
Adding flour by handfuls to a bowl,
then palm fulls of baking powder,
keeping it a 1:1 ratio,
then a pinch of salt.
Her hand carefully sifted
and mixed the ingredients together,
making sure they’re well combined.
Once mixed,
she heads to the sink,
toggles with the facet
until she gets the desired temperature.
Adding the water little by little,
with her free hand, she begins
to mix the ingredients,
all the while making sure it’s forming a ball.
Turning the bowl,
adding water,
combining flour mix and water,
until all the flour is gone
and all that’s left is a ball of dough.
“clean your hands.
Cover your dough to let it rest.”
She takes a plate and covers the dough.
I love this poem, Vivian. It says everything about your mom. Mine taught us to make biscuits the very same way. They just knew, didn’t they?
Thank you for sharing this wonderful poem!
Elizabeth
There I go… straight back to the farm house, standing next to Gran as she mixes the bread ingredients together and I can smell the bread baking in the black range… wonderful imagery! Thank you for sharing 🌞
WOW! Good poem and interesting topic.