Greetings!

It's been a long time since I wrote anything here. I'm not going to write much now. 

We will not be baking the week of Thanksgiving, so there will be no delivery next week on Friday, November 29, and we will not be at the market on Saturday, November 30. 

This is the last week of the season our pumpkin wild rice bread will be available. 

Our poem of the week:

Chamise

There is no wind. The chaparral has gone

to decadence. And the sun, at such a height,

leaves the sky desiccated, bleached ash-white.

A concentrated brightness, an indrawn

gathering of the light, as if the whole 

world were enclosed within a camera

obscura, an inverted repica

universe cynosured through a pinhole.

Even the soil is aching from the heat;

a cracking bed of serpentine where few

species contrive to grow, and those that do

sustain themselves on nothing but complete

famine and drought. More than sustain: they flout 

the whole system, responding to the mean 

conditions with a kind of libertine

excess, oiling themselves elaborately, without

a care for consequence. Inviting fire. 

Anointing their dry leaves with aromatic

resins just to inspire a dramatic

response. Spontaneous combustion. Dire

consequences, but they’ve thought of that 

too, developing at once two kinds of seed:

one sprouts in wet soil. One is only freed 

if the achene is scorched. This habitat

requires certain adaptations. And rather than being meager in return 

for meagerness, why not agree to burn?

Say there is nothing you cannot withstand.

- Amy Glynn Greacen