Every loaf I bake tells a story. Mine begins in a little cottage by the lake, where my grandparents built more than a home—they built a legacy of  faith, family, tradition, and love.

Many years ago, my grandfather built our family cottage with his own hands. It was there that my mother grew up, and it was there that my mother and father fell in love. Years later, my grandfather sold the cottage to my parents for just one dollar so it would remain in our family.

Every summer, my brother and I would spend our days there with my grandparents. Those summers are some of my most treasured childhood memories. The excitement always began long before we arrived. As we got closer to the little road leading to the cottage, my grandfather, my grandmother, my brother, and I would begin counting together…

“One… two… three…”

Then, just before turning onto the road, we’d all yell…

“Yay!” 

We were finally there.

I can still feel that excitement today.

After my parents became the owners of the cottage, my youngest sister became part of those summer traditions, and together we continued making memories there for many years.

Life at the cottage was wonderfully simple. We spent our days swimming in the lake, canoeing, catching fireflies, laughing together, and enjoying the outdoors. At the community house, families gathered for Sunday church services, regattas on the lake, hayrides, and evening square dances. It was the heart of the  little summer community—a place where neighbors became lifelong friends, faith was shared, laughter echoed through the hall, and everyone looked forward to being together.

It was also where my love of baking began.

One of my favorite memories was watching my grandmother and the other ladies gather at the community house to make Welsh cookies. Together they mixed the dough, then divided it so each family could take some home to bake. Back at our cottage, we baked them on an old-fashioned cast-iron wood-burning stove.  I loved helping however I could, watching simple ingredients become something wonderful. The smell of warm Welsh cookies filling the cottage is a memory I’ll carry with me forever.

Looking back now, I realize those moments weren’t just about baking cookies. They were about family, tradition, generosity, and love. They taught me that the best things in life are made slowly, shared with others, and remembered forever.

As the years passed, the cottage remained the heart of our family’s summers. Eventually, after we had all grown up, my parents made the difficult decision to sell it. Although the cottage no longer belongs to our family, the memories we made there have never left us.

They live on in the stories we tell, the traditions we carry forward, and in every loaf that comes from my kitchen.

That’s why I started Front Porch Bakery.

Every loaf I make is handcrafted in small batches using traditional sourdough methods, simple ingredients, and plenty of patience. I don’t believe in shortcuts, because the best bread—and some of life’s greatest blessings—take time.

When you bring one of my loaves home, my hope is that you’ll experience a little of the warmth, comfort, and love that filled our family’s cottage. Whether you’re gathering around the dinner table, welcoming friends into your home, or enjoying a quiet morning with a warm slice of bread and a cup of coffee, I hope my bread becomes part of your own family’s traditions.

Although our family’s cottage is no longer ours, its spirit lives on in every loaf I bake. It reminds me where I came from, the people who shaped me, and the joy that can be found in something as simple as homemade bread.

Thank you for supporting Front Porch Bakery and allowing me to share a piece of my family’s story with you. It is truly my privilege to bake for you, and I hope that one day, when someone in your family smells fresh bread coming from the oven, they’ll smile as they remember a special place, a special person, or a special moment—just as I always remember our little cottage by the lake.