The Bread Lady at the Farmers Market

At the Saturday farmers market, there's a woman who sells bread from a little cart: sourdough, rye, a seeded loaf, and a cinnamon swirl that sells out by nine. Everyone calls her "the Bread Lady."

I've bought bread from her every week for three years. She knows my order. She asks about my garden. When my son was born, she sent me home with a loaf shaped like a little baby.

This summer she told me she was retiring. She's eighty-one. On her last Saturday, the line wrapped around the whole market. People brought cards and flowers. A man played the violin. Someone made a banner that said "THANK YOU FOR THE BREAD AND THE KINDNESS."

She cried. Everyone cried. Then she handed me a folded index card: her recipe for the cinnamon swirl. "Somebody needs to keep making it," she said. I've been practicing every weekend.