BILL THE BREAD
MAN
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I've pretty much done away with Sunday rituals.
There are people who seem to like their religion ritualized. It's fine for
them. I won't judge.
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But
I do have one Sunday ritual. It's the day when I buy bread.
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We don't actually eat much bread, but
what bread we do eat is special. It's baked by Bill. I think it takes a
special baker to bake special bread, and Bill is special.
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I should say that the reason I buy bread
on Sunday is because that's one of the only two days he's open. The other
day is Thursday. We always buy a loaf of his bread for our Thursday night
Moment potlucks.
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It's a different kind of experience buying
bread right out of the oven. In fact, his shop is sort of an extension of
his oven. It's very warm in there. It is not a store as stores go. You are
right in Bill's kitchen the moment you enter the door from the street.
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He always lists available bread on a
chalk board. It's all organic of course. Some of it is yeast free. He avoids
white flour and sugar as much as he can. They are two of the body's poisons.
I almost always choose a number 4 or 5, the densest whole wheat on his list.
I hold up 4 fingers or five and he takes a loaf off the rack. The bread
I want usually comes out of the oven about 4:00, so it's warm when I get
there at 4:30 or 5:00.
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Bill doesn't have a cash register. Just
a cigar box. He doesn't handle anyone's money. Customers pay the listed
amount and make their own change out of the box. He keeps working, talking
as he does so. He seems more interested in baking bread and talking with
his friends than in taking in money. It's definitely a one man, low overhead
operation.
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Another thing about Bill is his feeling
about the world. He loves it. I've seen him go outside and just look up
at the sky. Not that he doesn't get outdoors enough. His home is a good
five miles from the bakery. He commutes on a bicycle. He has a trailer on
his bike so he can carry bread for delivery to the Co-op in town. He laughs
at the rest of us worrying about the price of gas. He's got his own energy
policy. He thinks that if a few more Americans would do as he does there
wouldn't be an oil crisis and not as much pollution and no war in Iraq.
He worries that the same policy will lead us into Iran. It hurts him to
think that people are made sick and die from preventable causes. His almost
continual smile turns to a serious frown.
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He takes summers off from work. He has
relatives in the mid-west, somewhere along the Mississippi. Guess what?
He rides his bike when he goes. He loves it.
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His home in town
is close against the Mary's River which flows into the nearby Willamette.
He talks of clear nights when he shoves his kayak into the river, paddling
to the confluence of the two rivers five times a week. He likes the quiet
of the night air and the peace of the river.
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Bill is a thoughtful person. There is
something about making bread that lends itself to thinking. I wonder whether
people needed as much therapy in days when they made their own bread and
did their own baking. There's time for thinking and wondering and wisdom.
There is time for working on problems and feelings and ideas. Time for sorting
things out. Bill comes out happy ─ most of the time. Sometimes thinking about
what people are doing to the world he loves for sake of profit makes him
pretty angry.
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Much has been said about bread. It plays
a part in religious life, especially in Christianity. It is a powerful metaphor
for the essence of life. Clues in the Bible tell us that Jesus knew about
yeast and grain and bread making. He was known for breaking and dividing
bread. He is quoted as saying, “I am the bread of life.” He surely meant
organic, whole wheat, because it's best for you. He multiplied loaves and
urged his followers to multiply loaves to feed the hungry of the world. He
shared the bread and with it himself, something like Bill does.
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Well, Bill's not Jesus or in the Jesus
business. But he passes out bread and when we break it at home we remember
that it came from someone who loves the world and lives in it in ways to
make it wholesome for others. It's 4:45 on Sunday as I write this. I'm going
to shut down now and do my Sunday ritual. I'm going to Bill the bread maker
for my weekly loaf of whole wheat bread.
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(Later. I'm back now. It's 5:30. I forgot my wallet, but it was OK.
I got my warm bread and Bill said I could pay next time I came in. No interest.
Another reason to love Bill the bread man!)
─ Art Morgan, April 30, 2006
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