a call to our lostgrandparents

it has been 6 weeks since I started working at Le Crouton (French Artisan) Bakery in Cairns. learning the Artisan trade of Bread Baking was and still is a dream of mine. although I am now seeking other employment, taking up employment at Le Crouton I took part in that dream, but as all dreams must end, no harm in their ending. with every venture, I gain perspective.

it just so happens that as I age, and perspective and sense evolves, I become increasingly recluse. so much so that I have a sense that I may be facing many more years alone in a way. to start a business, alone, to make my way according to my own will and vision, and not to follow what that which does not touch my heart. I wish not to learn skills to be recognised as skilful, but instead to make a life complete. by sharing what I love and enjoy, the craft of my hand and heart as a median by which to make a living by my own labor.

what is my passion, my love and interest?
I wish not to employ the word "passion" to describe my hearts yearning and my creative ambitions. As the word is often used especially in popular culinary culture, of which I am part of by trade. I am sure the word has become shop worn and bewitched and belittled by cliche. in this culture of confused ambition it implies that one must be be very noticeably vocal and stand out as being “passionate.” as if passion has to be coupled with publicity. what about the quiet ambitious?
by heart find a driving force, and by action just do.

for this reason, with discretion, I shall say, in place of passion, instead, perhaps, there is vision, sense.
there are images born of sense and dreams that I connect with and relate to my survival and peace, of a future that may come to be

one image is that of cold, majestic, far removed mountains, rock and sky, standing in thunderous silence unmoved by and uncaring for the world of men. a bestower of dreams and power.

another image is Enlgand, not the modern Empire, but the England of history, the England of poetry and magic. I long to return to England, and set foot on the cold misty planes of the English country side under granite hills and moss covered trees.

I do not want to be hot needlessly in this life. wherever I settle, may I be cool for most of the year and feel the condensing chill of winters frost. winter personifies retreat and contemplation, creativity is stewed and pain reckoned with. the ego struggles under the lowering skies of winter. this bring me to another image. Fire, Brick, Wood, Soil, Grass. also of bread baked by the Hearth, wood and brick.
soups, stocks, yeast and Ale. 

Our Grandmothers, and Grandfathers lost by time, resurrected.