We bloom where we grow.

Or, maybe in our case, we proof where we’re shaped. That’s the funny thing about life’s journey. We all go through so many of the same types of experiences, from dreaming to feeling overwhelmingly challenged, just in different gardens (or, kitchens).

A few days ago I was chatting with the incredible founder of Pots of Peace, as she was helping me finalize the locations of each and every beautiful new landscape plant making 1871 more lively.  I’m one of those people who just loves a story. I adore hearing about the adventures, trials and graces that have led people to the place they are. Like so many small businesses, it turns out hers is born from passion, inspired by hope, and driven by faith.

The whole conversation began when she stopped arranging flowers and seemingly randomly asked if I drank coffee. I assumed we were about to talk about an incredible new brew, bean or roaster, as she had likely seen the bags of coffee in The Bakery. Instead, I was caught with an unexpected chuckle when realizing she wanted to know where my energy came from. As someone who actually doesn’t drink coffee, that thought hadn’t crossed my mind.  And as someone who always feels exhausted (and is terrified I’m sporting the bags to show it), I found the whole question incredibly funny. Kind of like when my husband is occasionally carded buying a beer at his well-over-21-year-old age (sorry, love).

For a while after, we forgot about the all-important flower placements and shared stories of our budding dreams (sometimes called small businesses, at least ours would be if it ran like any other).  We talked about the circumstances that arose, paving a path neither of us could ignore. We chatted about the excitement, and sometimes fear and questioning, that following your dreams creates. And, while I found my purpose in dough and she in a garden, it was wonderful to share similarities and find support with someone else being guided by a purpose, never knowing what tomorrow would bring, but trusting in faith. About an hour later when we realized we chatted so long that we ran out of time to plant a single plant, she asked me one more question, “how did you get here, starting a bakery?”  

In what feels like the longest and shortest year of my life, I think I lost sight of how I ended up here. Standing in the former dining room of a 152 year old historic house, filling cases with bread and pastry, and quietly celebrating every time someone walks in our front door. I think I had lost sight of many things in the chaos, trials, and sleepless nights created in my crazy dream. This woman, who came here to transform our landscaping, ended up having a stunning impact on me, and my dreams, probably when I needed it most. When I was exhausted, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, and questioning our path. All just by asking one question.

I have loved bread from the moment I had my very first bite. I mean, seriously, if there was bread nearby, I would fill up on it and never be able to finish my dinner. A reality that drove my mother crazy.  I don’t recall a single night growing up where she didn’t fill our dinner plates with a perfectly healthy, balanced (and assumingly delicious, I woudn’t know- I was eating bread) homemade meal. All to end in telling me that I couldn’t leave the table if I didn’t finish the meat and veggies on my plate. I think she actually feared, quite regularly, that I was going to stunt my growth from malnutrition. Who could live on bread alone?  To be fair, I am only 5’2” on a good day. But I still blame my lack of height and reach solely on her genetics.

So, I suppose it would be obvious that someday I would love baking bread. And, even in my occasional quiet thoughts, dream of opening a bakery. However, for many years, I took any path but that. Each path, being a long story in it’s own right but, somehow, still led me to a day when my husband and I were standing in the foyer of an old house. A house we bought site unseen. On faith. I am still not sure we knew why we did it. But there we were, exactly where we were supposed to be. At least that’s how it felt when it’s old walls embraced us and opened doors we never expected. The rest, well it’s a path that we had no choice but to follow. 

Mr. Amazing and I still have full time day jobs. Yes, everyday I threaten to quit mine while thinking about how wonderful life could be. I imagine spending all day shaping bread and pastry. However, the reality is, we never decided to open a bakery. Much less plan for it. Almost a year and a half ago my day job was slow and, as a perpetually self-employed person, I don’t do idle well. So, I asked Mr. Amazing if I should bake a tart and offer it to people for Thanksgiving.  In the vein of many famous last words, he said, “sure”.  So, I made a pumpkin and mascarpone custard and filled a homemade butter tart crust. Then I did my very best to fumble through photographing it and posted it on a brand-spanking new Facebook page I named 1871 Bakehouse. 1871 was Mr. Amazing’s idea, a tribute to the house we loved more every day. In a little research of lifestyles from all those years ago, a bakehouse seemed like everything I wanted for this house and community.  For reasons I am still dumbfounded to comprehend, a very kind woman messaged and ordered a pumpkin tart for her Thanksgiving table.  Making that tart, terrified of anything and everything that could go wrong, I tried to convince myself this was a one-time thing. Something to keep me busy in a new place, during one of our first holiday seasons without family. However, as I dipped my tasting spoon into the custard, every fear left my mind. Every terrified emotion I had turned to joy. I could not wait to share the tart. I was ecstatic to hand this woman, so willing to take a holiday table risk on someone she had never met, something I made just for her.

As it turned out, she came down with the flu the morning of Thanksgiving. A few days later she messaged again and told me that she sent the tart with her daughter, to a friend’s Thanksgiving, while she spent the day in bed. She was worried it would go to waste. But, sometimes, our lives take a path we could never understand without a little hindsight.

That pumpkin tart ended up on the dessert plate of someone who was never a fan of pumpkin, and it somehow delighted her. Enough so, that she shared it with another friend. A few days later a local shop messaged the 1871 Bakehouse and asked if I would like to do a pop up for Small Business Saturday. I cannot emphasize this next part enough; I had no idea what a pop up was. Not a clue.  The very nice message from Synergy Herbal Works explained, and even offered to let us use their table. So, Mr. Amazing and I stayed up all night, baking to the best of our ability. Which, if I’m being honest, was pretty unimpressive in quantity. I was, at best, a good home baker with a crazy notion that everything had to be baked that morning. A feat I was definitely not prepared for. I had so many butterflies in my stomach as we set our few baked goods on the lovely white tablecloth, hoping someone would want to buy a baked good. Then something unimaginable happened. A woman walked into the shop, turned the corner towards us, and stopped in her tracks. Her face lit up, and I could actually feel her excitement. I could never have seen her words coming (and will never, ever forget), “1871! I can’t believe you’re here! I saw your Facebook pictures and couldn’t figure out how to find your desserts! They look amazing!” All I could think, over and over again, was, how does this woman know our week old, not-a-real-bakery name???

For days, weeks, months and now, almost a year and a half, the little community of Sparta keeps coming. We never advertise, but you find us. We opened in the foyer of an old house, setting a few loaves and pastries on a table, and you came to our porch. Even though it was weird and confusing, at first. Then one day that little table wasn’t big enough, and we looked at each other and realized, we were growing.  We pushed my great grandmother’s holiday dinner table into another room and Mr. Amazing built make-shift cases, that I did my very best to fill. Falling short almost daily. Despite every odd and unforeseen challenge, here we are. Still baking. Still growing.

Yes, I love baking (and definitely eating) bread and pastry. But this little dream, which became The Bakery at 1871, didn’t get here because of that. The Bakery at 1871, and my quiet dream, is here because of you all. Every new person who takes a risk on reserving an item because we’ve sold out (again). Every returning person who comes by weekly and tells a friend. Every person who walks in our door and says, “I’m so glad you’re here”.  The amazing community of Sparta is building The Bakery at 1871, bit by bit. One new friend at a time.

So, for every one of you, Mr. Amazing and I will keep going to our day jobs so we can buy more equipment and build out a beautiful new bakery. We will spend sleepless nights dreaming of new breads and pastries to fill menus (even when our undereye bags become suitcases).  We will wake up, every day, thrilled to bake as much as we possibly can -always fresh that morning. And we will never stop quietly celebrating every time one of you walks in our door.

This Bakery, Sparta’s bakery, is the journey we are meant to be on. In the house meant to be shared. In a community full of amazing people and small businesses who never fail to support each other. A community that welcomes, and helps sow the seeds that grow, more and more dreams. And, sometimes, when we get lost or forget our purpose, the people in our community show up and know just what to ask. Even when they may have no idea how vital they are at that moment.

Every one of us has a story. A purpose. And meaning we may never fully know in each other. While we will continue to bake bread in this old house, we know it’s so much more than that. We feel it every day. We want to be part of this community, and help more dreams grow. That’s our real promise to you, in gratitude for everything you’ve all done for us.

Just in case you’re thinking about doing a little gardening, planting spring flowers, or want a wonderful workshop to do with your kids, we highly recommend Zakiya Roberts with Pots of Peace. She has so many inspiring plans for the future, down a path I have no doubt was made for her. Trials and found purposes included.

Thank you for sharing in this old house and my tireless passion for bread. Thank you for being part of our bakery dream.