Every Saturday morning my foster mother would wake up earlier than any farmer I know and bake either bread or buns. When I smell fresh buns I can still hear AM 1250 playing on the radio and her mixer in the kitchen mixing dough and it was always very calming. She would wake up, get the dough ready and wash the dishes all before the rest of us would wake up. And when she finished that, she would pull the vacuum out of the closet, and turn it on, and that’s when chores would begin. In winter, there was really no yard work to do so we would usually finish chores by noon and get to eat fresh buns for lunch. <\/p>\n
My foster mother used to make her buns with milk instead of water which made them really good when eaten fresh, but not so good by the second day. Growing up we had never had store bought bread. We would get a homemade bun with jam for lunch and very seldom would we get lunch meat, (she would can so much jam in autumn that she thought why buy lunch meat when we can just eat the jam), but when you eat old buns and jam every single day, soon uneaten bun sandwiches start showing up in random places, our roof, our shrubs, neighbors shrubs, the bush on the way to school, my school desk, even the school roof. When everyone had to clean out their desks due to a mysterious smell in the classroom, it was usually my desk. At the time I was so envious of the kids that were blessed with white Wonder Bread and bologna sandwiches. So when I got my first paycheck from working a full-time summer job when I was 13, I walked straight from the bank to the grocery store, bought a loaf of white Wonder Bread, and a pack of bologna, and finished the entire thing before I walked back home. <\/p>