Ode to a Bakery

My brother and me visiting the bakery as kids. Archie, the owner, is pictured. He turned 87 this year and still works six days a week.

I worked at a bakery for fifteen years. I was in grade nine on my first day and my last shift was just days before moving north. 

Aside from the occasional babysitting gig, it was my first job. Before my inaugural shift, I studied the price lists constantly, but I was so nervous that I hardly remembered anything. My friends quizzed me at school. “How much is a loaf of brown bread? And a muffin?”, they’d ask. The cash register at the bakery didn’t tell us how much change to give back, so I had to brush up on my mental math. Math was never my strong suit, especially when I was nervous, like I was when I started that job, so my mum and dad helped me practice counting back change before my shifts. I wore flip-flops on my first day which, I learned upon arriving at the bakery, was a big no-no. 

I worked at the bakery after school a few days a week and on Saturdays. Eventually I became more confident with the prices, I got to know the regular customers and learned their standard orders. And I made new friends at work. Good friends. Lifelong friends. 

My family had been customers at the bakery since I was a baby. It was familiar to me. Before we were school-aged, my mum would drag my three brothers and me on various errands. Our favourite stop was the bakery. My mum would order four loaves of brown bread, sliced. My brothers and I made every effort to behave in the bakery. We’d be offered a sugar cookie by the staff and we knew our mum would never let us accept one if we were misbehaving. 

The bakery was family owned and operated. A mum and a dad and the three children, who were teenagers at the time, but who now have children of their own. They were all familiar to me when I started, but when I left, they were like a second family. 

I remember the customers. Their lives became intertwined with mine. I remember the comfort I received when I cried because of breakups, school, or whatever other difficult things I might have been facing. I remember the laughter – there was a lot of it. But maybe my most significant memories revolve around the weeks leading up to Christmas. 

Christmas at the bakery started in November. It began when the seasonal shortbread hit the shelves. The buttery goodness beckoned customers, reminding them of the celebrations they’d had and those ahead. Soon gingerbread cookies, Christmas cakes, plum puddings, stollen, and Yule logs joined the shortbread on the shelves. The little bakery, used to a steady flow of customers, became more and more crowded as customers arrived with long lists in hand, full of festive cheer and the bustle of the season. During the brief and rare lulls between waves of customers, we’d arrange Christmas decorations, re-stock emptying shelves, and organize orders. Weekends brought Christmas carollers and horse and carriage rides.  

When I first started working at the bakery, I remember being overwhelmed by the Christmas rush. In truth, I was probably more of a hindrance than a help. I was still struggling with the prices, and, under pressure, calculating the right change was a challenge. I was slow at packing orders which wasn’t entirely ideal during the busiest season of the year. But I finally mastered the Christmas season. I was given more responsibilities and eventually became an important part of the bakery’s Christmas team. 

Christmas meant long days at the bakery. It meant earlier mornings and later evenings and all of it reached a crescendo December 24th when we started at 2 am and worked until closing, frantic to fill the whole long list of Christmas orders. 

I loved Christmas at the bakery. The season brought with it an energy that was contagious. The excitement, the anticipation, and the generosity. Earlier in the year, people might have balked at the idea of waiting in line, but not at Christmastime. Customers weighed down by parcels and shopping bags chatted to one another, sharing holiday plans, Christmas dinner menu ideas, anecdotes, hopes and worries. The season seemed to connect people, and it was meaningful for me to see that year after year. 

It was a whirlwind. A long, exhausting day. But time flew by. People flocked in through the doors, picking up their orders and offering Christmas greetings. The family and staff worked hard and quickly and by the end of the day, everyone was exhausted and also giddy. I worked fifteen December 24ths and every single year I left the bakery in awe of the work the family put into their business. They baked day in and day out, missed out on holiday parties and family gatherings so that their customers’ Christmas breakfasts or Christmas dinners or Christmas get togethers could be just a little more special. 

I also learned from customers at the bakery that Christmas wasn’t good for everyone. For some people the expectations of happiness exacerbated difficulties that they were dealing with. Difficulties like illness, or loneliness, the pressures of society, depression, and more. I learned that it is a complicated time. A time characterized by conflicting feelings and a lot of pressure. The ‘shoulds’. I should buy this. I should see so-and-so. I should be happy. Societal expectations that are impossible to live up to. 

I suppose working at the bakery over the holidays allowed me to realise that Christmas is some parts a derivative of the fairy tale that we might believe it to be growing up and some parts just plain hard. Hard work, hard feelings, hard times. Everything a little more intense than at other times of the year.

Every year since moving north, I think of the bakery at Christmas. I am reminded of the wonderful, festive energy that it provided. I truly haven’t ever felt as Christmassy as I felt when I worked at the bakery. It was a special experience that I will cherish, forever. This year, I find myself thinking of the bakery more than in years past. 

My last day at Moore’s Bakery.

Maybe it’s because this year I’m feeling a little less of the Christmas spirit I’m used to having. I can’t quite put my finger on the why, but I suspect it’s a combination of a deep longing to be with family, an internal conflict regarding the pressures of consumptive habits that are the norm at Christmas, and a recognition that this time of year is particularly hard for so many. 

My fifteen years at the bakery were formative. I never expected to work there for as long as I did or to become so close to the family that owned it. Perhaps the bakery is a little like Beaver Creek. An opportunity full of unexpected lessons and connections. And more than a place – a feeling, a home. So, at Christmas this year, I’ll bring a bit of my experiences at the bakery into my holidays. I’ll bake at home and share what I’ve made with the community.