If you attended FinCon 2017, chances are, you heard a story about bread. It was the tale of a woman—certainly not a digital native—who had a knack for making sourdough bread. With the assistance of another individual, she was able to launch a series of lucrative online courses about bread-making. She hustled, she cultivated her talent, and she is now rolling in dough.
It is an outstanding story.
As I sat in the audience, rapt by the energy, the enthusiasm, the utter devotion to self-made side hustle success story after success story that was being shared, I couldn’t take notes fast enough. Then, when I let my eyes linger on the image on the screen for long enough, my mind did what it always does—it wandered to food. First, it was the realization that I have never tasted homemade sourdough bread. Then, it was a one-two punch to the gut as I realized it had been almost four years since I had tasted homemade bread of any sort, even longer for pane di Pasqua. Even though we have her recipe, none of us have dared to attempt baking bread like my grandmother used to make.
As I listened to the bread narrative unfold, I couldn’t help but bask in the similarities of the two women. Surely, both were and are fiercely devoted to food and family. The only thing my nana did better than bake and cook was to push her offerings onto others. One plate, two plate, dinner plate, dessert plate. Just a little more, you look too skinny. Though I never met the woman in the original bread narrative, I am certain that she also possesses drive, determination, a talent for teaching, and probably some sass. There are heartwarming similarities between the two stories.
There is also a remarkable difference.
My nana had a saying. Not the adorable sing-song one of my childhood—if you can call a song about drinking beer adorable—but one that she only uttered in my presence once I got a little older. It went like this: Shit happens, and it happened to me.
There are things that you can and do mask from children. The fact that she lived below the poverty line until she died was one of those things. Before you think her saying meant that she wallowed in self-pity or sat idly by, let me stop you. She did no such thing. Her eyes would dance as she said this as if she was daring the world to serve up another challenge.
Shortly after her husband returned home from the war, he died, leaving her to find her way with three children. Find her way she did. She took multiple buses twice a day to get to and from different factory jobs and never complained. Instead, she loved to tell stories of little pranks that the women would pull on each other and how they got to sometimes bring the castoff items home. She bought a house. She raised her children and helped raise her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even one great-great-grandchild.
But she never made headlines with her story. In fact, compared to the original, this other bread narrative didn’t rise the same way. There was no getting rich quick or slowly. There was no bakery, no restaurant, no profiting of any kind from her bread. But there were thousands of family dinners with her food as the centerpiece that drew everyone together.
Hers is still a story worth telling. It’s a story worth celebrating. Not everyone makes headlines. Not everyone needs to. Because that isn’t where life is lived anyway.
I think your gram sounds wonderful. As does her bread. I adore bread making. It is the thing I do to calm down. Bread feels like love. Like happiness. And there is nothing like kneeling it on the counter to make me let go of stress. Please tag me if you ever share her bread recipe. I’d love to see it.
That’s actually a great idea! If and when I do get around to doing some of her baking (and failing at it, I’m sure!), I will absolutely share the recipe.
Your nana sounds badass. She reminds me of my husband’s mom, who took multiple busses to her three jobs to make ends meet for her family. She lost her husband early, too. I love bootstrap stories of online success as much as the next person, but I also think that sometimes we get so caught up in the narrative of making it big that we forget about the life we have right in front of us. Your post is a great reminder of that. And may I encourage you to make some bread?! Homemade bread is the 8th wonder of the world! 🙂
These are the people that make the world go around! Forget all this celebrity nonsense, its those regular everyday people! She sounds like an amazing woman.
Beautiful story! I think your nana and my grandma, who grew up on a farm during the Depression, would have gotten along well.
Your nana sounds like quite an amazing lady. 🙂 Many people make ends meet because that’s just what you do. And now her entire family can benefit from her hard work, for generations to come. 🙂
This is a really lovely story. I agree with you: quiet dignity is more beautiful and noteworthy than adulation. Your nana sounds wonderful. She also seems to have naturally come by the sense of contentment and satisfaction with what she had that many of us are trying to learn.
Really wonderful, thanks for sharing her story.
My wife’s grandmother was like your nana. Her husband ran off with his secretary, then sold the house out from under her leaving her homeless with two small children. She worked two jobs to buy her house back, raise her children, and never once did anyone hear her complain. Her cooking was the center piece of family life for my wife. Even today the lessons she passed on nourish us, both literally and figuratively.
Sometimes we get so busy trying to get to our goal, that we don’t see that life is passing us by. Then, we read something like your post, and we remember to pause, and to be thankful.
Thank you for sharing, Penny.
Your Nanna is/was like an old-world enigma who was ahead of her time. Your story reminds me of Mr. G’s nanna and her baking. No one can replicate her date-nut bread, even with the recipe.
My grandma’s husband died when she was 33 and she was left with 3 small children. She was also left a little money and opened a candy shop, against all advice. After a few years that fell apart and she went to work in an office. I don’t recall her baking but she made great stuffed cabbage and potato latkes (pancakes).
Most of the fun memories from my early childhood involve her. She took my brother and me to Coney Island, to visit our cousins, and when I was around 8 and my brother was 12, she took us on a bus trip to Niagra Falls. I’ll never forget how she let us go out by ourselves to the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum. And I still have an image of her in my head dressed up in rain gear on the Maid of the Mist boat ride. She didn’t have much money, but she had a sense of adventure.
Thanks for sharing and for bringing up fond memories.
“Not everyone makes headlines. Not everyone needs to.” So true. Thanks for sharing your nana’s story.
There was an article by columnist David Brooks in which he asked readers about (if I remember rightly) a life well-lived, and overwhelmingly, people wrote about the joys of a quiet life. In a world of “reality” TV and the internet, in which people do crazy things to get in the spotlight, I can’t help but think those readers have a point. The kids climbing into your bed for snuggles, the family dinners, the road trips, the goofy stories, work worth doing — those are the things that make a well-lived life for so many of us. And your grandmother sounds amazing.
Nanas are such a gift to the world. I spend as much time with my Grammy as I can, soaking up her life lessons and recipes, and writing it all down. She sounds marvelous, I’d love to bake with her.
Just jump on in and get your hands dirty Penny! The worst that could happen is you toss out a few cups of flour if it isn’t right the first time. 🙂 I’ve a sourdough starter you’re welcome to if ever you’re in the Carolinas.
This is so true. Not every great idea/person “overcomes the odds.” Sometimes they quietly get by and show how to be a good person in the face of hardship. Those stories are also vital. Your nana sounds amazing.
My grandmother had a saying with similar sentiments: Such is life. http://lifegreatunknown.blogspot.com/2017/02/such-is-life-93-years-young.html