I can still vividly recall watching in awe as my Granny made the buns. Quickly and deftly she formed each blob of dough into a smooth round ball, almost identical to the last. It seemed like Granny magic . I felt honoured to know the secret when she slowed down so I could see the method to her slight of hand. I vowed to learn ... someday when I grew up. The cooler days of fall are perfect for making bread. The warm yeasty smell takes me back to simpler days. And as I form the buns, smooth and uniform, I am filled with pride that I was able to keep the art of making bread alive in our family. I know that if any of my grandkids ever ask I will feel just as honoured to teach as I was to learn.
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