Sugar comes back to our kitchen on Holy Saturdays after a forty day absence. It feeds the yeast that leavens the dough for our favorite Easter treat, Philadelphia Sticky Buns. My husband carefully kneads the rising dough and leaves it on a covered bowl to double. Then it will be kneaded again preparatory to a second rising.

While the dough rises, my husband prepares a bed of chopped pecans, corn syrup, and brown sugar in a pan to receive the sticky bun coils. When the dough is ready, our children fight over who will help their Daddy cut and roll the dough into little buns. Each will have a turn, each one’s concentration broken either by daddy’s admonition to put the  bun right side up in the pan or by a child asking, “Is this alright, Daddy?” Soon the pan fills up with dough rolls  distinguished by the age and skill of the hands that shaped them. After awhile,   the aroma of baking bread, caramelizing sugar, and roasting pecans wafts out of the oven and fills every corner of our home.

A season to bloom
the garden yielding its fruits
heading to winter.

For Dverse Poets Haibun Monday:  From the Kitchen of Poets


31 thoughts on “LEAVENED BREAD

  1. Looks like a delicious time there in the kitchen, Imelda. Haha, the kids wanting to help out is so cute. It sounds like baking is one of their favourite activities. I hope they helped to eat the bread all up too 😀

    1. Ah, the kids love baking knowing that they will have treats afterwards. Hereabouts, it is one of our bonding activities and one of the ways to teach the children to cook. It is one way to teach me patience, too. 😉

      1. I hope the kids don’t run you too ragged, Imelda. If not, just bake more…it sounds like that keeps them happy and well behaved 🙂

  2. That’s a good way to involve the children in your kitchen and make them appreciate the treats ~ Love the story and looks really delicious Imelda ~

  3. I like the story of family baking and the rising sweet buns fits so well with the poem images of spring blooming and life cycles.

  4. This raised long-ago memories of my grandchildren visiting me while I lived in Cyprus and my three-year-old grandson asking to make ‘jam-hearts’ because he couldn’t say ‘tarts’. Now he’s a strapping young man with his own boat-yard business.

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