ONE OF THE THINGS I vividly remember is my mother making bread.
She would stir up the mixture in a great big kettle. It would hold enough dough to make several loaves of bread plus a pan or two of buns. One of the big moments in the process always came when it was time to knead the dough after it had risen. I always begged to assist in that operation and sometimes she would allow me to participate.
The second big moment was when it came time to put the dough in pans for baking. She would cut off a large chunk of the dough and shape it into a loaf and place it in a baking pan. The baking pans were large enough for two loaves so each loaf had to be shaped just right to fit in along side the other.
I was seldom allowed to help with that task but I was consumed with watching her perform it.
Normally, enough of the dough was reserved to assure there was a pan of fresh buns ready for our supper meal (dinner to city folks). I sometimes was allowed to help shape a bun or two as they were placed in their baking pan.
How my mother could control the temperature of that old coal cook stove and turn out perfect baked bread, cakes and pies, I'll never know. It did not have a temperature gauge and, of course, the level of the burning had to be controlled by hand. At any rate she could time it so that the loaves of bread were all baked and the buns would be ready to remove at the exact time we sat down for supper.
If you've never eaten a bun hot out of the oven, smeared with home made butter and covered with a liberal layer of home made Cherry, Strawberry or Raspberry jam - you don't know what you are missing.
Sometimes there would be a small amount of dough left.
Mother would roll it out into a thin layer, spread butter, cinnamon and sugar on it, then cut it into narrow strips and bake it. I can't remember what we called it - but I do remember how quick it disappeared after it was removed from the oven and we were notified that it was available.
