Baked here, sold here, gone by afternoon

We started with one folding table at the Wayne County farmers market and eight loaves that sold out in forty minutes. That happened enough Saturdays in a row that we rented a narrow brick storefront off Main Street, put in two deck ovens, and built a pie bench out of an old barn door.

The bread is simple: flour, water, salt, time. We mix in the afternoon, let it rise cold overnight, and bake first thing so the crust is still cracking when the door unlocks. Pies get made on the same bench by hand, which is why the lattice is never quite perfect and the fruit occasionally boils over.

Almost everything on the pantry shelf comes from inside an hour of here — blackberries off the ridges in July, apples in September, honey from hives up the road, sorghum from a mill east of us that still runs the old evaporator. What we can't get locally, we buy plainly and say so.

Summer weekends belong to the lake. Boats go out early, so we open early, and we keep hand pies and jam boxed and ready for people who don't want to wait around. Winter is quieter, more biscuits and cornbread, mostly neighbors.