When I flew to Colorado for my first harvest, I packed a little differently than most people.
My carry-on wasn't filled with clothes.
It was filled with ten loaves of fresh bread.
But I wasn't bringing bread for myself. I was bringing it for the farmers.
I wanted to hand a loaf of fresh bread to the people who spent the last year growing the wheat that made it possible.
After months of planting, watching the weather, hoping for rain, worrying about hail, and working long days through harvest, it felt like the perfect way to say thank you.
We stood together in the wheat fields, breaking off pieces of sourdough bread slathered with butter warmed by the sun. It was a simple moment.
Flour isn't the end of the story. Bread is.
It's what brings people to the table. It's meant to be shared. And sometimes, the best place to enjoy it isn't around a dining room table at all...
It's standing beside a combine in the middle of a wheat field.
So today, I thought I'd share the same bread recipe I packed into that suitcase.
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