This place, I tell you.
I’ve worked here for a bit more than eight years, longer by far than any other job that I’ve ever had in my life, and I still have a hard time explaining this place to people. The problem is that there’s just too much. I could go on for hours about the smells: the specifics of each one and the stories that they make me remember, the way that they combine and seep into my clothes and skin and follow me home every day. I could write pages and pages about the people I’ve met and worked with here: the way that some of them became part of my new world family (different from the family I was born into, but just as important). I could, and maybe should, talk your ear off about the beautiful things that we make in our kitchens. I would tell you about the care and attention that goes into every single bit, and how rare and special that is in today’s world of nameless, faceless mass production. All of these things I could do, and have done over the last eight years to whomever would listen to me. But none of it ever came very close to really describing what it has been like to live and work in this place. Nothing I have ever said, or could ever write, could even come close to helping you understand how it has felt to live this life, with these people. There is, however, something I could show you.
I started taking pictures in the bakery about five years ago. I had read a little about photography, and everything I read said “Shoot what you see”. So that’s what I did. It started slowly, grabbing quick shots of coworkers when they weren’t paying attention, or goofing off, having fun, and doing their jobs. What I found was that in between the seconds were little glimpses of the real truth that was happening all around me, that was too big and complicated for me to articulate. So I took more, and more, and even more after that. My coworkers began to think that the camera was just part of my hand, and let their guard down even further. I learned more about my friends, and the place I worked from looking at the photos I took than I ever would have without them. They told the story with far more detail and clarity than I could ever muster with words. The slide-show that greets you on our main page, those are my photographs. Every single one of them tells a small truth about this place and my time in it. If you look, you might understand what I’ve tried, but failed to say with words: that this place is my Home. And if you worked here too, you’d be Home already.
Zak
8:30 AM is by no means early; especially to a bakery that never sleeps! By the time I clock in, we’re in full swing here at Missoula’s #1 bakery. I am lunch—start to finish. Soups, salads, sandwiches, fillings for hardrolls, and the potatoes that go into our so, so fine “1845” bread, that’s me! I provide a much needed break from the sweets and coffee for customers and employees alike.
I have been here for almost four years now—a long time in one place for anyone in the food industry. Just when I feel I need more from Bernice’s, things change, and I’m invigorated. Small pieces for new products fall into my lap, which is great because I am no baker! Any chance I have to help with these pieces, I do. Every day is different, but the end is always the same. 4:30PM , I clock out.
On my walk home, I always have a smile on my face just knowing that I am part of a fixture of Missoula that makes people feel happy on a daily basis for the past thirty-three years. It’s one of the best feelings in the world.
