Babcia's Homemade Buns

I took this picture of one of Babcia's baking pans when she moved into her present senior's place.

 She won't be baking anymore.

 She used to take such pride in baking her buns.

If this pan could talk.

Yehzoos!

In this picture if you squint really hard, you can almost see dough that's buttered, rising in the pan and smell yeast.

See it was rising.



Babcia’s Buns

Old tarnished bake pans sit on the floor

Hot buns will come from these no more

Babcia’s homemade buns were her pride

Golden crusted, fluffy, with butter on the side

Robin Hood flour gently baked, lovingly with lard

Having  fresh buns on the table was hard

She fired up a wood stove in the early days

And blended into the dough her country ways

She kneaded and punched till we were fed

Those were the days when bread was bread.

Our satisfied stomachs did not give her joy

It was the “finished bun” that made her say “Yoy”

Aroma filled her tiny kitchen space as she baked

And the hard work she did never left a trace

When she brought us care packages to eat

Her homemade buns were always a treat

Garlic Sausage and dills and a couple of buns

Add a nice cold beer and we were done

Making  chleb out of her old tarnished pans

Were a gift we remember from Babcia’s hands

Grammas are supposed to bake cookies and cake

But it’s Babcia’s kids who will miss what she baked.