Early mornings in front of Mildrith, as I sweep out the ashes and load the hearth with bread, I feel the presence of St. Francis, the saint statue resting on the wall of the oven shelter.
It’s little more than a block of concrete cast into the likeness of St.… Continue reading
Behold, this loaf, the staff of life!
It is beautiful to look at, chestnut-coloured, with a patina of flour on its expanse of crust, dark brown with a bit of char along its scoring lines.
Breathe it in deeply! Close your eyes. It transports you! The aroma is intoxicating, earthy, buttery, and exotic.
Glorious to taste, the crunch of crust, creaminess of crumb, a dense chew with darker notes, the subtle hint of wheat, grass, malt.… Continue reading
I hope all is well and that you are thriving as best you can be in these strange times.… Continue reading
… Continue readingI am Richard and once was a monk of the Cistercian order at Boxley Abbey, north of Maidstone, Kent. It is now the Year of Our Lord 1389, and I am far from that life of poverty, contemplation, and silence that I lived for most of my years.
When I step outside at 2 a.m., it’s cold and dark. I find my way to Mildrith’s shelter with the light of a headlamp. Sometimes a light breeze jostles the wind chimes. They sound like an eerie, monastic night-chant. Compline.
The fire in Mildrith, the wood-fired oven, has been burning 17 hours.… Continue reading