Today’s bread began with a simple question: What can I make with what I already have?

I had been reading about Ezekiel bread, inspired by the words of Ezekiel 4:9:

“Take wheat and barley, beans and lentils, millet and spelt; put them in a storage jar and use them to make bread for yourself.”

I didn’t have all those grains in my cupboard, and I wasn’t interested in making a special shopping trip. Instead, I decided to borrow the spirit of the bread: bringing beans and grains together to make something nourishing.

I started with about two cups of cooked mixed beans. I blended them until fairly smooth and then added what I had available:

• 2 cups cooked mixed beans, puréed
• ¼ cup rye flour
• A mixture of white and whole-wheat flour
• A generous handful of rolled oats
• 3 tablespoons honey
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• Commercial yeast
• Warm water and salt

I added the flour gradually, watching and feeling the dough rather than following exact measurements. That is often how bread happens in my kitchen. You begin with an idea, pay attention to what the dough is telling you and adjust as you go.

The dough rose beautifully. The beans gave it substance without making it impossibly heavy. The rye, whole wheat and rolled oats brought their own texture and flavour, while the honey added a gentle sweetness and the olive oil helped create a soft, tender loaf.

As I write this, the bread is cooling on the counter. It looks wonderful, although I’m resisting the temptation to cut into it too soon. Bread needs that cooling time to finish setting inside—even when the smell makes waiting difficult!

This isn’t an exact replica of commercial Ezekiel bread. It is my own cupboard-friendly version: a nourishing loaf made from beans, grains and a willingness to experiment.

There is something deeply satisfying about making good food from what is already close at hand. It reduces waste, stretches the pantry and reminds me that creativity often begins with limits. We don’t always need the perfect ingredients or the perfect recipe. Sometimes we simply need to begin with what we have.

And today, what I had became bread.

A Few Notes for Next Time

Because I measured much of the flour by feel, this loaf may never be reproduced in precisely the same way—and that’s all right. Next time, I may try adding barley or millet flour, lentils or a scattering of seeds.

For now, I’m waiting for the loaf to cool, the kettle is ready, and I’m looking forward to that first slice.

Have you ever made a successful loaf—or an entire meal—by simply using what you already had in the cupboard?

Weekly Notes from Grannie Doll

Hello friends,

This week has been quieter in spirit, and honestly, I think I needed that.

There are seasons when life asks us to push harder, hurry faster, and keep producing. Then there are weeks like this one — where the invitation is simply to steady the ship. To rest. To return to the small things that help us feel grounded again.

For me, that has looked like English paper piecing in the evening light, knitting on a sock while listening to the sounds of home, and slowly continuing this journey of living the 100 Mile Path life.

The hand stitching especially has been speaking to me lately. Tiny stitches. Tiny movements. Tiny acts of care. It reminds me that not all progress is loud. Some of the most meaningful work we do is almost invisible to the world.

The sock knitting has become its own kind of prayer. Row after row, heel turns and familiar rhythms, creating warmth from wool in my own hands. There is comfort in making useful things slowly.

I’ve also been thinking a great deal about rest — true rest — not quitting, not laziness, but deep replenishment. I think many of us carry exhaustion we rarely speak aloud. We move from task to task, responsibility to responsibility, until our souls begin asking for softer places to land.

So this week I leaned into slower meals, local foods, simple routines, and familiar comforts. Living the 100 Mile Path continues to shape how I think about abundance. Not abundance through excess, but abundance through connection:

• local food
• handmade work
• deep community
• enough on the table
• enough in the pantry
• enough in the soul

There is something deeply healing about knowing where things come from — whether it’s the wool in my hands, the vegetables on my plate, or the people in my circle.

This life may look small from the outside.

But it feels rich to me.

As we move toward another busy season, I hope you too can find one small grounding practice this week:
a cup of tea,
a walk,
a quiet prayer,
a loaf of bread,
a row of knitting,
a few stitches by hand.

Small circles.
Deep roots.
Steady hearts.

With love,

Grannie Doll