The Joy of Baking
What do we mean by “labor? Isn’t the life of a human being synonymous with labor; the ceaseless efforts to secure food, shelter, clothing and other needful things? Could we even be human without work? Consider all the ways we work, the many types of our labor, and the web of its permutations: making things, doing things, thinking things, changing things, providing things, inventing things, constructing things, composing things, and making all those things better and better. Our animal and insect brethren work, too. From the individual nest-gems of the bower bird to the stalk-hunt-stalk-hunt activity of the lioness, creatures on this planet become themselves by working. And, somehow all this activity impels the world forward.
A lot of people are working on Labor Day this year. The holiday, since its federal establishment in 1894, was meant as a day-off[1] for American workers, and an official recognition of their value. It’s devolved from that into a poor cousin to the Fourth of July. I see flags everywhere, parade route parking prohibitions, and uncountable “Labor Day Sales.” I see deliveries being made, coffee being poured, gyms being staffed, and groceries being bagged. Even as the adoption of artificial intelligence software threatens the labor and livelihood of so many, the celebrations go merrily ahead. Even as the Department of Labor’s own data show a clear rise in child labor violations[2], and while there a spike is forming in state-level legislation to weaken existing child labor laws, we approach the Day in the madcap spirit of late-summer vacation.
Pardon me if I leave the barbeque in the shed.
I once witnessed a French woman performing her job, and it changed my entire sense of what human work means. She was a baker in a small, ancient town in southern France, well-known for the quality of her madeleines. From the outside, the shop itself was unremarkable--just like any small bakery anywhere. The long line of people which formed as the day’s siesta ended hinted otherwise. I and my companions eagerly joined it. Upon entering, my preconceptions fell away.
The bakery was entirely empty. The glass cases were lighted, but held nothing. The walls, though painted a fresh yellow, were bare. No signs, no prices, no pictures to whet the appetite, no advertising of any kind. I must have been a little stunned as it took me a half-minute to notice the woman standing in the room waiting for me. She held a large clay platter entirely covered with newly-baked madeleines. An assistant stood next to her with tongs and small waxed bags. I ordered several, then stepped aside. The baker served the disappearing cookies with quiet pride. She would go on to serve them until the day’s batch was gone. Then, the shop would close. The baker would do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after. One felt her work was an episode in her daily life, it wasn’t the primary activity. I felt very American! How could this be? Why didn’t she expand? The cookies were marvelous but…just one product? And then I sat down in the late afternoon sun, ate the remaining madeleine and considered her. If there is a French word for stress, for work stress, it wasn’t part of that baker’s vocabulary. Perhaps the morning baking was stressful, of course I can’t be sure either way. Her presentation of self was inextricable from the way she offered her product for sale. When it was happening she was fully present. When it was over, one felt she would transfer that presence to something else—a glass of celebratory wine perhaps, and a chance to sit down and enjoy the sunset. How fortunate to be within the quiet rhythm of labor for its own sake, and how instructive to those of us whose work extends long hours and bleeds into the ones that remain. This French woman is my toast to Labor Day in America: May you have joy in your work!
https://www.illinoislaborhistory.org/
[2] https://www.dol.gov/agencies/whd/data/charts/child-labor