As May winds down, nature is winding up. As I run through the woods, the natural world makes itself known by loud bird chatter and an ever creeping mantle of green. This year, the tree blossoms and flowers seem especially colorful and resilient. It might just be that the gray skies help to show them off or that my mind is more focused on what’s around me these days.

With more free hours on my hands, I've reached back in time through my little red recipe box. I started it as a sixteen year old as a way to hold on to recipes that I enjoyed from my mother’s collection. I chose weekly favorites or my favorites. Sometimes when my mother prepared a fancy meal, I would copy a recipe she used in the hopes of preparing it someday when I fixed a fancy meal. Many of the recipes are in my handwriting, using my special purple pen, and the index cards I wrote on are in a protective plastic sleeve often tarnished by cooking residue. But over the years, I added recipes from cardboard boxes, or shiny magazines, or ones given to me by friends. I also have torn out paper ones and ones scratched out on random pieces of scrap paper!

Yesterday, as I was rifling through the box looking for my favorite hamburger bun recipe, a familiar well-worn card caught my eye with a recipe for oatmeal bread from a family friend. The last time I made those loaves, I was still living on a farm out in the country west of town. The recipe includes all the staples I would have had in my farm kitchen pantry, including butter which we churned ourselves. When I made bread in that old fashioned oven, it was usually a more standard sandwich loaf, full of hearty flavor and healthy ingredients. This was before the days of artisan and sourdoughs bread, before I brought my Belgian roots into my baking world. Aunt Carol, as we called her, invited me as a college student to share a meal at her house. This oatmeal bread, sliced and still warm, sat on a wooden bread plate with a German prayer carved in its circumference. I grabbed a slice, buttered it, took one taste and I was hooked. Aunt Carol willingly shared the recipe. Soon after, already bitten by the breadmaking bug, I was turning out loaves for friends and family.

When we lived on the farm, a slice of this bread was a perfect addition to a light soup meal and hearty enough for a filling lunch sandwich. Toasted, it brought out the sweetness of the molasses. So when I saw the recipe yesterday, I immediately pulled it out. And, yes, my pantry still holds all the staples I needed to make it. As I mixed and kneaded, the special scent of molasses tickled my nose and I was back in that farm kitchen, looking out over the fields where the cows happily grazed. When I pulled it out of the oven, I smiled at the perfect loaf shape. There’s something to be said for traditional breads.

Today, I made a grilled cheese sandwich with it, with a sour cherry spread and a sharp cheddar cheese, a perfect accompaniment to a homemade tomato soup. Now that I’ve made it again, I’ll be baking it more often.

Here’s the recipe if you still have time on your hands.

Aunt Carol’s Oatmeal Bread

Dissolve 1 pkg. of yeast in 2 c. warm water.

In a bowl, mix:

1 c. whole wheat flour

1 c. white flour

2 t. sea salt

2 c. regular rolled oats

½ c. powdered milk

Add:

½ c. molasses

¼ c. softened butter

the yeast mixture

Beat with a wooden spoon until smooth.

Add:

1 c. whole wheat flour

1 ½ to 2 c. white flour or as much as you need to make a soft dough.

Turn out onto a counter. Knead five to ten minutes. Let rise until doubled in a greased bowl (about an hour). Punch down and let rise again until doubled, about 45 minutes. Shape into two loaves and place in greased loaf pans. Let rise again. This last rise will only take 40 minutes or so. Bake at 375° for 40 to 50 minutes.

Remove from the oven and turn out of pans onto a cooling rack. Enjoy!