I grew up on a Hayes County Nebraska dryland farm, north of the farm written about in this story. This story rings true. My mom baked all our bread, and one of my fondest memories is walking home from my one-room rural school a mile and a half from home, and coming into the house to the smell of fresh-baked bread waiting for my after-school snack.

When Mom died, Dad decided he'd have to learn how to bake his own bread. So he bought a small mill to grind the wheat grain he brought in from one of the storage bins built into the sides of the barn and ground the flour. We called him "the little red hen." He also toasted grain and then ground his own breakfast cereal, which he cooked every morning. Yum!

I still make most of our bread, using white wheat flour sometimes enhanced with various grains which I buy from King Arthur Flour added in. I no longer live in Nebraska, but the area where we live in eastern Colorado is surrounded by farms growing winter wheat, and it's not far from Kansas or Nebraska. Thanks for taking me on a trip down memory lane.

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