Bread & Poetry ~This Once Was a Love Poem by Jane Hirshfield~

Hello, bread lovers—

I recently sat in on a panel called “Can Heritage Grains Actually Feed the World?”, moderated by baker Peter Reinhart. There were some heavy hitters from the grain community: Dr. Stephen Jones, the director and head wheat breeder at the WSU Bread Lab; Glenn Roberts from Anson Mills; Amy Halloran, Flour Ambassador extraordinaire and the author of The New Bread Basket. It was here that I was also introduced to Sean Sherman, the Sioux Chef.

So, can heritage grains actually feed the world? The answer is a bit complex. Did you know that we produce enough food to feed the world and then some? Yet why are there still so many hungry nations? The answer, of course, is politics. And commodity agriculture is chock full of them. The notion that our current commodity system is necessary to keep the world population fed is completely false. According to a report by the Environmental Working Group, “Eighty-six percent of American agricultural exports in 2015 went to 20 of the world’s wealthiest and most developed export destinations, including Canada, China, Mexico and the European Union.”

In fact, “only half of 1 percent of U.S. agricultural exports last year went to 19 nations, including Haiti, Yemen and Ethiopia, that the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization determined had very high or high undernourishment.”

If you’re having a hard time reading between the lines, let me decipher. It’s a total farce that the world is depending on U.S. commodity farming to keep the hungry fed. Not only that, but we’re keeping the world hungry at a cost to our air, water, and land resources. What would really help end world hunger? Supporting small farmers in less developed areas and focusing on an economy that fosters them growing their own food.

Dr. Stephen Jones encouraged me to read this article, and I’m passing it on to you. We all really need to think about our food choices and what kind of world these choices support. Amy Halloran points out that supporting small farms and helping them get out from under the damaging commodity systems that they’re shackled to is paramount to a healthy agricultural system. I agree.

Savor your week in each and every choice you make.

All my best,

What I’m making this week:

All the bread I’m making this week reflects the people I talk about above.

Mama bread is made with a modern landrace wheat developed by Dr. Stephen Jones and his wheat breeding team at WSU Bread Lab. Camas Country Mill grew some out and graciously sold some to me to try. For now, they’re calling it Skagit 1109, which sounds quite sci-fi, but it’s only a temporary name until it gets its final moniker, possibly Doris Grant.

For the organic sandwich loaf this week, I’m using triple sifted white wheat from Camas Country Mill and 5% malted barley flour given to me by Amy Halloran. It’s her favorite malt and she passed some on to me. In this loaf, I’m also using benne seeds from Anson Mills.

Rye Crackers made with the last of my Abruzzi Rye from Grist & Toll.

Savor your week with delight and gratitude and the kind of fire that both burns bright and keeps you warm…

This Was Once a Love Poem
by Jane Hirshfield

This was once a love poem,
before its haunches thickened, its breath grew short,
before it found itself sitting,
perplexed and a little embarrassed,
on the fender of a parked car,
while many people passed by without turning their heads.

It remembers itself dressing as if for a great engagement.
It remembers choosing these shoes,
this scarf or tie.

Once, it drank beer for breakfast,
drifted its feet
in a river side by side with the feet of another.

Once it pretended shyness, then grew truly shy,
dropping its head so the hair would fall forward,
so the eyes would not be seen.

It spoke with passion of history, of art.
It was lovely then, this poem.
Under its chin, no fold of skin softened.
Behind the knees, no pad of yellow fat.
What it knew in the morning it still believed at nightfall.
An unconjured confidence lifted its eyebrows, its cheeks.

The longing has not diminished.
Still it understands. It is time to consider a cat,
the cultivation of African violets or flowering cactus.

Yes, it decides:
many miniature cacti, in blue and red painted pots.

When it finds itself disquieted
by the pure and unfamiliar silence of its new life,
it will touch them-one, then another-
with a single finger outstretched like a tiny flame.

This Was Once a Love Poem by Jane Hirshfield

This was once a love poem, before its haunches thickened, its breath grew short, before it found itself sitting, perplexed and a little embarrassed, on the fender of a parked car, while many people passed by without turning their heads.

It remembers itself dressing as if for a great engagement. It remembers choosing these shoes, this scarf or tie.

Once, it drank beer for breakfast, drifted its feet in a river side by side with the feet of another.

Once it pretended shyness, then grew truly shy, dropping its head so the hair would fall forward, so the eyes would not be seen.

It spoke with passion of history, of art. It was lovely then, this poem. Under its chin, no fold of skin softened. Behind the knees, no pad of yellow fat. What it knew in the morning it still believed at nightfall. An unconjured confidence lifted its eyebrows, its cheeks.

The longing has not diminished. Still it understands. It is time to consider a cat, the cultivation of African violets or flowering cactus.

Yes, it decides: many miniature cacti, in blue and red painted pots.

When it finds itself disquieted by the pure and unfamiliar silence of its new life, it will touch them-one, then another- with a single finger outstretched like a tiny flame.