Fresh Baked Bread

by kfrego

Many people in the early 1950’s still made their own bread at home on a regular basis.  Warm bread with real butter was always one of my favorite foods. It was even better with a little peanut butter. Nothing smells as good as fresh baked bread.

The parents of one of my friends owned the small local bakery in Potlatch.They had a contract to deliver fresh bread to a business customer in Moscow Idaho every weekend. My friends parents would make the bread in the afternoon, let it cool enough to transport it, load it into their panel truck, and deliver the bread to Moscow in the late evening. My parents allowed me to accompany the bakery family when the deliveries were made to Moscow so my friend had a companion.

We always helped prepare and load the bread into the bakery panel truck. The panel truck had racks on each side right up to the backs of the seats. The center of the panel truck was filled with cross racks except for a few feet at the front. All of the racks were full of fresh baked bread. (This was before plastic and the loaves were loaded on the racks then covered with light weight cloth covers designed for the bakery racks)

We normally left Potlatch just as it was getting dark. The parents sat in the front seats and we sat on the floor just behind the seats. When it was warm we sat with our backs against the seats. If it was cold we faced the front heater and put our backs against the center racks. There was a dim light in the cargo area which covered everything with an eerie red hue. The AM radio was always playing loud and we would sing along with the songs we knew.

It didn’t take long to make the delivery in Moscow and we would head back to Potlatch. We would sit or lay in the back of the panel truck while singing to the AM radio in the eerie red hue of the panel truck interior. The trips provided a diversion from our normal routines and were a special part of living in Potlatch.

You have to love the smell of fresh baked bread………but the eerie red light no longer appeals to me.