Even if it's a bit burnt

I bake because...

• I love the gathering of ingredients. 
• Unravelling the folds of my worn flour bag since I used it last.
• The feel and softness of the flour.
• I love the peaks the flour and sugar make as I pour and weigh them on my yellow scales.
• I'll never forget making impressions with the back of a spoon when I was little, being amazed at the perfect smoothness of it in the mound.  
• The delight my little one expressed today when she pressed her hand into the flour, her perfect tiny hand print complete lines made me smile.
• I get to use the measuring spoons and green Pyrex I took from my husband's mother's house when we were sifting through her things.
•  I wonder  how many beads of yeast make a tablespoon, hundreds maybe thousands.
• The wait for it all to begin it's work, for the froth to bubble up from below the shiny surface, the beginnings of the leavening process are taking place, there is science going on in my bowl.
• Kneading, many hate it but I love it. I can see my father's strong bakers hands as he'd plait his loaves, and line them up on worn floured boards.
• I love the scatter of flour on my bench, it makes me happy and content that I am making bread like I have seen being made so many times.
• I don't even mind the waiting.
• Having something that was before heavy and dense, turn into something light airy and aromatic is magic.
• The warmth that fills my kitchen, the aroma that fills the air and street as it cooks is amazing.
• The best part of all is the eating of it hot, the lashings of salted butter,
• The flock that comes to gather at my block for their piece.
• I remember eating warm fruit loaf at nine pm when  my father would come home from work, makes me realise now that he was sharing his love of this process with us.

That is what makes me want and love to bake.