After a few weeks of kneading heavy whole wheat dough I had the shoulder muscles of an Olympian. It was hard work, and as I was the first to arrive each morning the initial batch of dough had to be made without any help. I would blend the flour and grease the pans the night before but the biggest challenge I faced each day was the kneading.
Mac’s mother had loaned us all her bread pans, so once a week her maid would appear with a huge bowl of white bread dough for me to bake. She always managed to come at the worst possible time, with both ovens full and rising loaves standing by to fill them again. Oven timing was critical for the bread, and the arrival of Momma’s dough each week never failed to throw me off schedule. I needed to get more bread pans so I could send hers back!
Mac’s dough-mixer stand squatted in a special alcove he had created for it, useless without a motor. The bowl and attachments were missing, so even with a motor the machine would not do me any good, and it was taking up valuable kitchen space. It was somewhat cruel to have it standing there while I kneaded, almost like it was mocking me!
One morning Mac came rushing through the swinging doors with a huge grin on his face. Triumphantly he held up a box and said, “guess what! We got the motor!” Mac’s friends Spike and Billy Bones had arrived on their boat Slipaway bearing a Christmas present for us, the motor we required for the Hobart. Mac had sent them the model and serial numbers, and they had been able to find what we needed in the States.
Mac installed the motor, then turned the machine on. Its purr was music to my ears as we watched the Hobart come to life. However, without a mixing bowl or dough hook my days of kneading were not over, and the Hobart’s presence became even more of a mockery. Mac was sure he would be able to find the missing parts, they had to be on the Island somewhere!
