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Our tribal friends have their sweet potato, our national friends have their rice, and we just can’t help but long for a nice fresh slice of bread. The boys in my house love homemade bread. One loaf lasts a very short time. We had a visitor once who watched me pull pan after pan of baked goods out of the oven and said I should time how long it all lasted. Most everything was gone by the next day. Oh well, such is life, right? Good things come and good things get eaten!
I remember the lady who taught me to make bread. She said, “You can’t make bread for just yourself; you have to share”. I listened to her, and my tribal neighbors enjoy bread now too. I can’t help but cater to our tribal grandma; she is so special to our whole team. So when she gets sick I often ask her what she is hungry for. “Do you want the bread that is cut (loaf bread) or the wide bread (tortilla)?” I am a lot like my mom, and if someone is sick the obvious response is to cook.
When I first came to this country, bread was comforting because it is from our home culture in the US. It reminded me of home, family, and friends. To a certain extent it will always be that way. However, now I think of all the cheers from the Wild boys when they see the dough rising. I think of the warmth coming from the old wood stove. I think of the great smell coming out from the oven. So now, baking bread also reminds me of my tribal family, friends, and home in the jungle.
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