Welcome to The Bakehouse Almanac — a new monthly ritual I’m so glad you’re here for. At the top of each month, this little almanac will land like a note taped to the fridge accompanied by a mug of coffee slid across the counter. It’s our monthly guide of sorts: a mix of good intentions, short lists, seasonal thoughts, and a few personal notes from me as we move through the year together. Think of it as a vibe check as we step into each new month. An intentional break from the news cycle.
This is very much a shared table situation. A dialogue, not a monologue, if you will. In the comments, I’d love for you to check in too! Tell me how February feels where you are, what’s playing in your earbuds, what’s baking in your oven (or what you’re hoping to bake this month). We’re doing this together, one month at a time, with dirty dishes in the sink and the very best of intentions. Here’s how we felt about January from the comments from last month’s almanac.
Friends, can we talk about vultures?
I’ve had vultures circling this old house in Bellville since I moved in a few years ago. I’m well aware they have very little to do with me personally and much more to do with my small town address and proximity to a two-lane highway where the occasional raccoon, possum, squirrel, or even deer loses a battle with an oncoming car.
The vultures are the clean-up crew around here, and I’ve always appreciated their service.
Two springs ago, shortly after I moved in, I noticed an injured vulture hiding in the little barn at the edge of the pasture. One wing hung awkwardly at his side, poor guy. And he teetered away from me anytime I approached with a bowl of water. I stood there wondering: did I have anything dead to offer him? That felt like the wrong instinct.
For days, his vulture family perched on the roof of the house, watching over him. It felt biblical. I didn’t know what to do, so I called city hall. A very patient city worker came out, surveyed the situation, nodded solemnly, and confirmed that yes, that was an injured vulture, and no, he would not be doing anything about it.
He gently reminded me that I live in the country now. And that nature, at times, natures right there in your pasture.
The next morning, the injured vulture was gone. The entire funeral of birds had vanished too.
As scavengers of the ecosystem, it would be easy to see vultures as omens. Like signs of doom, decay, something ending. But just as I confidently tell people this old Victorian house is not haunted when they ask, I choose to see vultures for their different spiritual meaning. They are renewal, transformation, the necessary clearing of things.
Life is perspective, right?
I really started noticing vultures years before I moved into this house, when I began riding motorcycles. Riding 75 mph down a highway with little more than leather and an engine between you and the asphalt sharpens your senses in a hurry, I’ll tell you that! You learn the habits of large black birds very quickly because riding up on one at high speed will make you consider all your life choices.
First of all: vultures are beautiful. Their wingspan is dramatic and elegant. They are inclined to take their sweet time stepping away from their roadside meal. Maybe because a motorcycle creates less vibration than a car. Maybe because they respect us less. Hard to say.
But here’s what I learned: a vulture will always fly in the direction it’s facing. Obvious, maybe. Vital information when you’re approaching fast and need to anticipate which way it will move and which way to steer the motorcycle. I always give them a nod when I pass. I respect their work.
A few weeks ago, I pulled up to my house and literally stopped in my tracks.
There were NINE vultures on my front lawn. NINE! It was downright theatrical in its timing.
After the weeks I’d had, being absolutely raked over coals and untruths across social media, the presence of the clean-up crew of the dead and unburied gathered on my grass felt… pointed.
I drove slowly past the house and found them picking over a squirrel who had likely been struck on the road and dragged onto my lawn.
Did I, for a moment, feel like that squirrel? Yes. I did. Sometimes the signs are not subtle.
We tried to ease gently into this new year. We whispered “Gentle January” like a spell, but January had other plans. And so it goes.
And now here we are in February. Watching which way the vultures fly.
I still refuse to believe those big, beautiful birds carry doom. I choose to believe they signal transformation. That something has been cleared, and that what remains is fertile ground.
If a vulture always flies in the direction it’s facing, then perhaps that’s our sign for this month. To turn deliberately towards where we want to go, and try our best to lift off and up.
The Oven Is On: Here’s What’s Warming the Kitchen
I’m letting this February be about small gestures. Fewer people at the table. Softer light in the kitchen. Something sweet that doesn’t require a sheet pan the size of Texas.
• Small-Batch Lemon Poppy Seed Muffins are a sweet and simple kind of romance. A tiny batch, just enough for two, like you meant to make exactly this much bright and lemony joy and no more.
• And then there’s Browned Butter Banana Bread, the steady classic. The recipe I reach for when I need the kitchen to smell like reassurance and home. The reason I buy bananas and let them languish on the counter for too long.
• Creme Fraiche Quiche Lorriane is my strong recommendation for the weekend ahead. Make it once and let it linger like a little weekend luxury. I especially like the savory eggy custard pie served with a sharp little salad for Sunday lunch.
What I’m Reaching For: little anchors in joy here and there
Right now, I’ve got landscaping plans spread out across the dining room table like a full-blown operation. I let myself linger in the seed aisle at Tractor Supply this morning, holding little paper packets like they’re lottery tickets for spring. Zinnias. Basil. Maybe a reckless amount of tomatoes this year seeing as I ate all the little Sungold tomatoes straight from the vine last year. I’m daydreaming about what the first planned garden here in Bellville might bring.
On my nightstand: a new novel I’m very much looking forward to, Little One by Olivia Muenter. There is something sacred about having a book waiting for you, and this one’s a bit of a thriller, which I love!
WWOZ has been playing softly in the house most afternoons. If you don’t know it, it’s a New Orleans radio station that feels like a living, breathing porch. I learned that trick from my friend Jessica, a New Orleans native, who always has it playing in her London flat. It’s a way to shift the air in a room without a single moving box.
Also: fuzzy house socks. We are not martyrs to hardwood floors in February.
Also: this recipe for Caribbean Cornmeal Porridge.
One of the more vulnerable parts of being loudly berated on social media is that your real-life people can see it, too. The friends and family who know you in the everyday are also exposed to whatever wild narrative is spinning in the comments section. It’s a strange dissonance to hold: the person they know versus the person being yelled at by strangers.
This past weekend at a sweet little Galentine’s party, my friend Abby had our girlfriends write me handwritten notes. Cards filled with shared memories, inside jokes, reassurance, and very clear reminders that the woman they know is not the rumor of the week. I cried in the car on the way home. Obviously.
A reminder that handwritten notes are medicine. Which means it’s time I put to use the beautiful stationery my big sister Launa brought me back from Japan. If you’ve been waiting for a sign to send someone a letter, this is it!
And lastly, I’ve decided I’m signing myself up for a flower subscription for the next three months. If I’m going to be nesting and building a bakery — there will be flowers on the counter. We deserve beauty that shows up on schedule.
That’s what I’m reaching for this February.
What are you reaching for?
February Ins
-
Changing up the everyday china
My friend Karlee and I were texting about fancy Williams Sonoma china, AS FRIENDS DO, and it inspired me to swap some of my everyday plates with my grandmother’s china just for a bit and just for fun! -
A new cookbook + a book of poems on the bedside table
Something to reach for instead of the phone if we wake up in the middle of the night. I currently have Allison Roman’s new cookbook and Dog Songs by Mary Oliver. Bonus points for a little book light! -
Making dog treats and sharing them
A double batch: one for your pups, one for a neighbor’s. Homemade peanut butter biscuits = instant goodwill. -
Saturday bagel dough, Sunday morning bagels with friends
The kind of low-key hosting that feels right this month. Schmear, strong coffee, pajamas welcome. I love this recipe from King Arthur Baking. -
Chocolate in multiple forms
Chocolate cake, mini chocolate chips on a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Wait… hot fudge! February is not the month for restraint. -
Rearranging one small corner of the house
I’m starting with a corner in the guest room upstairs. Small shifts change the energy! -
Leftover soup on the stove at 5 p.m. for an early dinner
I’m bringing back this old recipe from the blog for Vegan Cream of Broccoli Soup. - French fries as often as necessary for happiness.
February Outs
- Bras past 6pm.
It’s a short list this month.
What’s Playing in the House
• The Köln Concert with Keith Jarrett. This record lives in my top three albums of all time. If you don’t know the lore: it was recorded in 1975 in Cologne, entirely improvised, on a less-than-ideal piano that Jarrett almost refused to play. And yet what came out of that night became one of the best-selling solo piano recordings in history. Casual.
It is searching and repetitive in a way that feels meditative. Sometimes it hums softly in the background while I test kolaches; other times it feels like it’s rearranging something inside me. It’s transformational if you let it be. Or it can simply be beautiful music drifting through the house while the cookies cool on the counter. Both feel super valid.
• Welcome to the group chat because I have been evangelizing John Craigie’s new album I Swam Here to every music lover I know. There’s something about it that sparkles softly. It feels intimate and unguarded.
After a few listens, I learned that much of it was recorded in New Orleans and… well. That explains something. There’s a warmth and looseness to it that feels familiar to my bones. It’s wistful without being heavy. Perfect for slow mornings with coffee or an evening glass of wine while the dogs run like crazy in the backyard.
If January knocked the wind out of you a bit (hi, same), these two albums feel like a steady hand on your back.
Happy Mardi Gras, New Orleans friends! I miss you so much!
Laissez les bons temps rouler
Friends, truly – thank you for being here. Eighteen years is a long time to gather in one corner of the internet and talk about cake and courage and what’s playing in the background while the cookies bake (and we grow up). We’ve built something steady here and I don’t take that lightly.
If this month is about anything, I hope it’s about gently tending to your home, people, your body, and your spirit.
Tell me what you’re reaching for this February. What’s warming your kitchen? What joy are you stacking up on the dining room table? I’ll see in the comments, as always.
For more Joy the Baker, directly to your inbox, subscribe to the Substack newsletter Baked In! There is loads of free content but a subscription will give you ad-free access to joythebaker.com! xo
33 Responses
Here in NC, we started February with an ice storm, followed five days later by a heavy, but beautiful, snowstorm, so I’ve been reaching for my cozy electric blanket and The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion by Beth Brower. I can’t help but imagine my life as her friend and living in London during the 1880’s. I adore this series!
Pull-apart cinnamon bread warmed my kitchen during the snowmageddon, while my husband made his all-time favorite: snowcream.
I think it is time to move some of my grandmother’s china into my everyday kitchen cabinet, too! I don’t know why I keep it tucked away in my china hutch. It has such a cheerful pattern that gives me joy. Thanks for the idea!
This is such a sweet update, Kat! Thank you for sharing! Looking up Beth Brower’s work now because I feel like I’m going to need a pile of books on the bedside table to get through this year. And I love that your husband celebrates snow with snowcream!
These monthly digests are so warm and cozy. As someone who has been lurking around here for many many years, I am deeply sorry that the Internet put you through all that s*** this last little while. You deserve donuts and sunshine.
January, and even February this year has been filled with weird, tense energy in this house and we are working to banish it and reset it, one cookie or muffin recipe at a time. I am a long time fan of the classic “dads brown butter chocolate chip cookies” (with pecans, obv) but recently came across a s’mores cookie recipe that is also filling the same warm spot. Nice to have variety and go-to favourites!
Sending love and light.
You know…. sometimes we have to work for the reset, but we can do it! Rooting for us!
What a beautiful post about some of God’s misunderstood creatures. Maybe they gather there because they sense your soft and welcoming heart.
I must not have been paying attention – I don’t know who pummeled you on social media, but let me at ’em! And now your Instagram page is not accessible, so I’m praying all is well with you..
Joy, I’ve been reading your writing for a long, long time & this is one of the most gorgeous things you’ve shared. I don’t know why but the story about vultures really touched me.
Thank you for still being here even though I am sure it has not been easy xx
I really enjoyed your Substack about scrolling addiction a few days back and I need to pop back onto that space to give you some of my tips! Thanks for being here and I love seeing you over there, too!
I just bought a new bag of cornmeal and I’m going to add that porridge recipe to the list.
Your view of the vultures showing up is beautiful. May your life be visited by all kinds of beauty and joy. I wish you all the best.
The bayleaf in that cornmeal porridge recipe must make it! I have a new bag of artisan cornmeal just begging to be porridged. Let me know how you like it!
February is my birthday month. I turned 59. I chose to go somewhere remote and beautiful. Washington Olympic Forest. Watching the waves crash. Listening to 70 90 indies music. Disconnect from all the anger and hate swirling around. Your letters give me peace also. Big hugs Joy. This storm shall pass. Sun and Spring is coming. Healing the hurt.
Happy happy birthday this month, Teresa! The gift of peace is wholly worth it! Enjoy the forest and have a beautiful month!
I’m going to make your strawberry sheet cake for Valentine’s Day, but per my husband’s request, topped with dark chocolate buttercream frosting. Your strawberry cake is a family favorite!
You have my full support! I’m late to comment, but sure this went super well!
I am privileged to view turkey vultures regularly in Northern California. They love to ride the vents.
I was surprised to read about your social media issues. Please try to have pity on the small minds that generate such terrible words.
3 things…
First, I have loved the Koln Concert since forever, so much so that I wore out the album.
Second, lying in a chaise on the patio and watching the buzzards glide on the warm updrafts is one of the most relaxing and beautiful ways to spend time.
Third–though I only know you from 15 of your 18 years on the internet, anyone who would berate and disparage you is no one I’d ever want to associate with. Some people are just wasting the air they breathe.
I feel like I’m very much on my way to wearing out this album myself, so I feel like I’m in good company!
I haven’t been in touch lately. February is always a hard month but this year brought my son’s wedding to his best friend. Like Linda said above, I missed who or why you were pummeled, but let me at them as well. I truly do not understand the negativity and ugly that swarms social media. Be kind, people. Move on if you can’t. Thank you for bringing light to my world that has been rough the last couple of years.
Congratulations to your son and your family!
Thank you for continuing to write and share with this community! Adore you!
Joy!! I deeply miss our regular Sunday updates/collections/coming togethers in all the ways, but I will truly follow you wherever you will go (fellow elder millennials, it’s The Calling you’re hearing), sooooo off to Substack we go. Also, you are amazing and wonderful and bless Bellville for getting the best of you!
Ah Erin! I really do miss our Sundays, too. I see you, my elder millennial, sister. :) We’re still in it!
My February started with the death of a dear friend from college (only 52, criminally young), and we are expecting to hear about the passing of my ex-MIL soon. So I am being gentle with myself, looking out for my daughter’s wellbeing, as well as her day to day, while her Dad is taking care of his family. It’s ok if clean laundry doesn’t get put away, we are baking on the weekends and going thrift shopping.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Sara. 52 is entirely too young. May their memory be a blessing to you. Take good care of yourself for the rest of the month.
Oh I loved John Craige when I saw him play here in Seattle last year. He opened for my favorites, Blind Pilot. (Quote of the night from him was “ICE can gargle my balls”, which was then quoted again by Israel Nebeker, the lead singer of Blind Pilot.)
I’ve been very much enjoying Jeffery Martin lately. I often cry my way through “Red Station Wagon”. Seems like he might be up your alley as well.
It’s been a long time since I considered the gargling of balls and honestly…. thank you! Hahaha! And off to add Blind Pilot and Jeffery Martin to my listening list!
I am loving these monthly digests- they feel more intimate and intentional. How are we already halfway through February?! Mine has been full of morning walks (The sun! Is rising! Earlier!), ice cream sandwiches, cat snuggles, and making occasional crafts (I spent all of yesterday sewing a lovely bag to gift a friend!). I’ve been off of social media since December 24th, so I missed whatever unfortunate drama you’re referring to… “missed” isn’t the right word though because I don’t, miss it that is. These past few weeks have been gloriously filled with intention and blissful ignorance and I feel my timing is impeccable. Good riddance!
Thank you for sticking up for ”nature’s pickeruppers”. Vultures eat what might otherwise harm people if left to rot and spread disease.
Here’s a helpful resource to help injured or sick animals. It’s a free app called AnimalHelpNow This app helps seek advice on what to do or not, find rescuers, or rehabbers. ( They were so helpful to us when someone’s dog attacked a baby skunk).
Animals need help even in the “country” especially since often their injuries are human caused in some way.
Love what you do!
It has been absolutely soggy February here in England. Today, however, the sun has broken through the wintry sky, and my heart is singing with joy. Another cold front is on its way, but this sliver of sunshine reminds me that daffodils will soon be in bloom (along with the rest of the glorious springtime foliage that truly makes an English spring and summer magical). Social media is wild isnt it? My best and truest advice for all of us is to avoid it. Find places like this little patch of the internet wild west to gather and revive, and leave the rest of it alone. Replace scrolling with nature walks, feeds with real human connection, and trends with curiosity and hobbies.. Sending you warm hugs, Joy!
I do not know why I felt invested in your online and family issue, but I was not one of those that yelled at you. I am, however, still one of those people you call a stranger. I don’t know why, but I find that moniker insulting.
I have followed you since Tron was a kitten. I followed your moves. I cheered you on from a distance. I got emotional when you posted yourself crying because of a breakup. I bought your books to support you. When Joanna from Pyne & Smith was looking for people to collaborate with, I suggested you. You got free dresses because of me. I may a stranger to you, but I represent a body of people that made you (at least “Joy the Baker” business you).
You got on camera, looked us straight in the face, and called us “Friends.” Every single day. You asked us “strangers” to tell you our darkest secrets so you could advise us and make our problems your spiraling entertainment.
You didn’t owe anyone an explanation, but it felt like you wanted to keep all of your very diverse following, as well as your real life friends, happy and it backfired. As you wrote on substack, you felt like that dead squirrel picked apart by vultures. Well, you, like that squirre,l made a decision to run out in front of a fast moving car.
I followed you all these years because I admired you. Lately, your content has felt a little more trad wife than the butter wielding boss bitch I loved, and that is okay. You are allowed to change. You will lose some followers, but you will certainly gain others. But whatever it is, be true to whatever version of yourself you are, or strangers are going to keep yelling at you on the internet because you will come off as disingenuous.
I was watching one of W. Kamau Bell’s videos recently, and someone asked him “How are you doing?” and he answered “Doing the best I can.”
I really like that answer. It feels accurate to how I’ve been feeling the past month or two.
That’s a simple sentiment that I appreciate. I feel like I have to occasionally check in that I’m doing the best I can and give myself a little nudge back towards best. It’s a practice.
I’m not on social media, but I’ve been reading your blog for over 10 years and during that time have heard you express nothing but kindness for others, show empathy to the vulnerable, enlighten us with different life views and share small but impactful stories of other peoples’ lives. For what it’s worth I think you’re a lovely human. Take gentle care.
Here’s a turkey vulture story for you… years ago my brother-in-law was driving on the NJ turnpike, going about 70 mph give or take. Out of nowhere a turkey vulture hit his windshield head-on, shattering his windshield. The force of the impact propelled the bird into the car where it smacked against the back window.
THANKFULLY my brother-in-law was not injured, nor was any other human. And his car wasn’t even totaled.
But he’ll never forget the taste of turkey vulture.