our story

. . . in my Grandma Heller's kitchen. Her home always smelled like rising bread and cinnamon, it was intoxicating for a little bread-obsessed girl. My earliest memories are of she and I punching down sandwich loaves, sprinkling cinnamon, and washing dishes together at her sink. She taught me patience and how to do things right. Other days, you would find me at my Grandma Buell's home watching her pull jars of strawberry jam and pre-baked sugar cookies from the freezer so we could birdwatch from her large windows in the kitchen. She taught me the value of having treats ready to give your friends and family, and you are only as rich as the depth of your friendships. The older I become, the more I realize I am rich beyond anything I could have expected.

Our story moves from a young child eager to make something from nothing to an adult who recently had a beautiful child of her own and was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease... and was told her favorite thing to eat would harm her. Now, it's very important to note here before I go on, I come from a very stubborn people. I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's Thyroiditis, something I'm learning is semi-common after your body undergoes extreme amounts of stress, and I had to rework all of my eating habits. I went through months of changing my diet, my lifestyle, I went carnivore, I was gluten-free for a year, dairy-free for a year, it was insane. Then came the Great Sourdough Push of 2020. All the old ways of doing things, soaking beans and lentils, fermented foods, raw milks, etc., came back into the fold along with a lot of information. I had read sourdough could be better for people like me, so I tried it out. I attempted a few bakeries locally and further out, and the effects on my body were less noticeable, but I still had the gut-wrenching pain and body aches. So I made mine at home with organic flours... and it worked. After a year and a half of painfully eating bread, I was finally able to have bread that didn't hurt me.

In the middle of this big health change and becoming a new mother, I began the divorce process and all that entails. I went from a stay-at-home mother to someone very unsure of where to go almost instantly. Remember how I said I was rich in friendship? One of those lovely friends who also deals with food restrictions encouraged me to go to markets with my bread and treats, as it was something I could easily do with my 1.5 year old. I was terrified, but she encouraged me. My mom bought me a tent, we found some tables, and I put my son in a carrier on my back and got to work. At that first market, I had 12 loaves of bread, a small case full of muffins, and some cinnamon rolls. My neighbor came to see us, my son ran around the tables, and I sold out. It was the first time I could really breathe in months, all because a few of you bought some bread. I started by visiting every market I could, from New Smyrna to DeLand to Daytona Beach, both with my son on my back and with friends coming to visit and sitting with us while I worked. As my confidence grew, so did my table. One became three, 30 loaves became 200, and a handful of encouraging friends became the entire community. 

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