While in residence at Tassajara, a golden opportunity manifested and I moved into the role of Tassajara baker for the guest season. I think people are drawn to Tassajara bread as a unique manifestation of place, the way in which the particular conditions of the valley lend a distinctive character to the bread, known as terroir. Sourdough is shaped by the wild yeasts that inhabit place, living all around and within our bodies.
How are these invisible worlds impacted by the sincere and continuous practice, the unceasing stream of wind, water, people, and Dharma that flow through Tassajara year after year? It delights me to imagine that the sourdough and yeasts are fed and molded by the valley life, in turn providing nourishment and energy to the sangha so that we may continue practicing to understand our relation of no separation.
Peeking through the window, the work of baking may seem tedious and repetitive, moving through the same steps of mixing, folding, shaping, and baking day after day after day. True, it is simple and stabilizing in its elemental form and steady routine. Looking more deeply, the work practice of baking has emerged for me as the practice of awareness and appropriate response.
At its heart, baking is a practice of relationship with worlds unseen that emerge and guide the work itself. Mystery and aliveness abound in the miraculous transformation of flour, water, and salt into leavened bread through the cycling life and death of yeasts both wild and cultivated. Working with these creatures to co-create nourishing loaves is a daily reminder of the vast, infinite, unknowable worlds—small and great, visible and invisible—that support our lives. It asks for gentleness of hand, trust, intuition, and awareness of ever-changing conditions that impact fungal activity and dough development.
Too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry—I observe the relationship of cause and effect carefully and do the best I can to respond appropriately. One must enter all of the sense gates to accompany the dough in its transformation: sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste. Reading books, while useful, provides limited understanding. Baking bread is a truly embodied practice that invites me back to the senses, encourages a nascent sense of wonder and builds trust in the mysterious unfolding of this life.
What does Tassajara mean to you?
Widening the lens, I consider the bakery to be the hearth of the temple, a place of warmth, comfort, and communion, inviting students to gather and break bread together. I have been amazed and deeply touched by the solace and joy that bread brings to the community. There is such a flowing stream of gratitude and appreciation from the community and temple guests. It seems to emerge from every direction and, for me, has provided such deep nourishment and energy that I turn back over into the dough. The emptiness of the wheel—of giver, receiver, and gift—is beautifully manifested.
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