It's been too long since I've filled the house with the smell of baking bread.
Far, far, longer, I gather from the land lord, since this house has had people in who bake.
I'm not a wild-eyed mystic but I do, I do, believe a home retains a certain presence from what is done within: cutting a pine board, baking bread.
That stuff gets into the walls, man, and makes a place feel like a home.
Dough rising as I type. Bread will be done at 6:00. Be here by 6:15 or the Teenagers will not leave you a crumb.