At 73, I Still Make Homemade Bread — But No One Greets Me

There’s something deeply comforting about the smell of fresh bread baking in the oven. For many, baking bread is more than just making food — it’s an act of love, tradition, and connection. At 73 years old, I still find joy in making homemade bread every week, carefully kneading the dough, waiting patiently for it to rise, and finally pulling golden loaves from the oven. But despite this simple joy, I face a quiet loneliness: no one greets me.

The Tradition of Homemade Bread
For decades, baking bread was a way to nourish not just the body, but the soul. It was a skill passed down through generations, a ritual that brought families together. The warmth of the bread oven, the feel of dough slipping through your fingers — these small acts create a sense of purpose and pride.

At my age, baking bread keeps me active and connected to those traditions. It’s a way to celebrate life and my heritage. The bread I bake is wholesome and nourishing, made with care and patience.

The Quiet Loneliness