Breadmaking and Other Mysteries

Since John has been away, one thought has kept me appreciably distracted from the whole situation – missing him; the molasses-drip of time. Sure, I’ve been planning for the Cook Islands, dreaming about going home, working, socializing, watching films, devouring books, and obsessively checking Facebook – but besides all that, John has also put a bug in my ear that’s been whispering exciting and far-fetched ideas for weeks.

It all started with our friend Russ, a Political Science major who is due to get married next month, and who’s apparently starting to ask some important, penetrating and worrisome questions. What he proposed to us was this:

Given that the world’s economy, at this stage, is entirely dependent on an infinite supply of cheap petroleum; and granted that this supply is actually neither cheap, nor infinite (it’s getting more and more expensive – and it’s expected to disappear within the next few decades); perhaps the world economy is due for a major collapse in the foreseeable future. Maybe, he suggested, we shouldn’t be quite so dependent on the world economy, if we hope to save our own skins.

Supermarkets, he argued, carry a three-day food supply: if their shelves aren’t replenished by then, they run out of food. Having seen the empty supermarkets in the South Island following the earthquake in Christchurch, I believe him. After the earthquake hit, people started to panic, buying more than they needed, stocking up on anything that was hard to get.

It doesn’t take much to tip the scales. In one day, the bread isle was completely empty, and entire shelves of canned goods were missing, like a Jack-O-Lantern’s teeth. The next day, most of the vegetables had been cleaned out, too.

I did some research of my own, and found that Russ may be right. Scientists and researchers at top universities in fields as diverse as economics, sociology, environmentalism, and future studies have been saying the same thing for years: this system will inevitably collapse. And, far from having any kind of game plan, those at the top seem to be merely attempting to portray a public persona of concern, while urgently reaping whatever profits they can, while they still can.

Because of the decline of cheap petrolium, food prices are expected to increase by more than half in the next decade. This means that, by the time my generation is busy caring for young families of their own, we will need to work harder and earn more money just to get by. On the other hand (and this should concern us), somehow earning more income in an economy that is rapidly declining may not be a viable option.

So what can be done?

For himself, Russ plans to buy land, and grow his own food – to become self-sufficient, if possible. He wondered if John and I would consider pitching in with him and Colleen on a hundred-acre farm and embarking on (I imagine) the kind of homesteading project that I read about in The 100 Mile Diet and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.

I have to point out that all of our high school friends had been half-joking about this kind of thing for years. If the world ever ended, we said, we’d all get together and farm some land, can tomatoes and make soap. We’d make The Commune. We’d survive.

But Russ, of course, was no longer joking.

Even though John and I are in no position to buy property, and although none of us has ever farmed a day in our lives, we all felt the adventure that such a project would entail.

I can’t help but also feel that it’s got the potential for disaster.

Still, John has started to send me retail listings for properties all over BC, alongside the Craigslist ads for apartment rentals in Victoria. And even though we were both doubtful, we also looked longingly at the sunny cottages, farmhouses, fields of hay, orchards, and greenhouses, noticing things like water and electricity supply, total arable acreage, latitude, and the distance to the nearest town.

Granted, any house out there would be isolated. On the plus side, we could potentially purchase a house and quite a few acres, for a fraction of the cost of a house in Victoria.

Even though this kind of thing is probably out of our reach at the moment, it got rekindled a lifelong dream of mine: an orchard, a kitchen garden, flowers, chickens, and a bee hive. Maybe I could grow peppers and lemons in a greenhouse. I’d bake bread, can vegetables, make pies and soup, and maybe even make my own cheese and butter. It would be hard work, but if I had time off, I could spend it with my dog, taking long walks in the country; or spend it in my library, reading near the fire. I could paint landscapes and portraits, throw clay pots, and at the end of the day, I’d curl up with my husband feeling utterly content.

Sigh.

Am I getting clucky, or what.

Screw this doomsday talk – I want my farmhouse for its own sake.

Speaking of which, I attained one of my New Year’s resolutions today: I learned to bake bread. All I needed was flour, water, yeast, sugar, and salt. I served it up, buttered hot from the oven, with a bowl of homemade cream of cauliflower-broccoli soup.

Midnight dinner for one!

Here is a recipe for what I did:

Traditional Hearth Bread

2 cups body-temperature water                                                  

5-6 cups whole-wheat, spelt, or all-purpose flour
1 tbsp sugar, or a mix of honey and brown sugar                                

½ tsp salt
1 tbsp active dry yeast                                                                    

1-2 tbsp oil

Pour the water into a bowl; add the sugar and make sure it dissolves. Sprinkle the yeast on top. Let it sit for 10 minutes, until bubbles appear.

Stir a cup of flour into the water before adding a pinch of salt. Stir the rest of the flour, a little at a time. Use your hands until it looks like dough, and then start kneading on a floured surface. Knead for at least five minutes; when it’s smooth and elastic, you’re finished. Form it into a ball, coat it with oil, cover and stash it in a warm place to rise, until it doubles in size. (This should take about an hour.)

Punch it down and knead it again; then place in a greased loaf pan. Cover with a towel and let rise again (about half an hour). Preheat the oven to 400 F.

For crusty bread, put a roasting rack in the bottom while you preheat the oven; when ready, carefully pour a cup of water into the pan. Steaming the dough before baking produces the famous crust.

Bake for 35-45 minutes.