Just keep going

and a recipe for Guinness quick bread to satisfy your yearning heart

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don’t let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.

—Go to the Limits of Your Longing, Rainer Maria Rilke

It’s been a grey few days. Nary a break in the brooding sky, the November supermoon nowhere to be seen. Finally, reluctantly, the earth is laying down its arms and surrendering to the hoary embrace of bare branches stretching, stretching down to touch the barren ground.

It may be echoing what’s in our hearts. We, too, are caught up in this inevitable cycle—the early morning chill, the darkening days, the sinking feeling that nothing will ever really be green again. Perhaps more profoundly, a sense of being broken apart by the weight of it all. The heaviness of the season seems to settle into our bones, as though the world outside is reflecting something deeply internal—a kind of fracturing that feels final, irreparable.

The tantrum of our emotions

There is beauty in everything, even in what is broken.

– Kahlil Gibran

When a toddler is disappointed or upset, there seems to be no greater grief.

An inconsolable toddler is a storm of raw emotion, a whirlwind of cries and flailing limbs that seem immune to comfort. Their small bodies tremble with a frustration they cannot yet name, their tears falling fast and fierce. Every attempt to soothe them feels like trying to hold water in cupped hands—slipping, spilling, elusive.

In this moment, they are all feeling, no words, a fragile heart overwhelmed by the weight of something too big for their tiny world. And yet, beneath the chaos, they are searching—longing for calm, for safety, for the steady rhythm of love to bring them back to shore.

I suspect that we’re back to our toddler states these days, feeling overwhelming emotions that are anchor-less, without a rudder to guide us to a calmer shore. When the world seems broken, we break with it.

Yet, there is a cleansing and a profound power that comes with breaking, for it is in the act of destruction that space is created for transformation.

Breaking into light

As I sit and scan the sky for that elusive November moon, I see it high above me, faint and distant beyond a layer of deep night clouds.

Yet even though I don’t see its full beauty and the magic of that supermoon glow, I know it is there. That faithful moon has seen much and soothed many with her preternatural light. She has seen death and destruction and rebirth and new life, in seemingly the blink of an eye.

In this season of discontent, it may seem like the long stretch of bleakness in front of us is intolerably long. But as Rilke reminds us, no feeling is final. Just as a traveler may encounter rough terrain or unexpected detours, we experience pain and loss as part of that landscape of life. But we keep moving. We don’t stop in the broken places. We walk through them, and in doing so, we begin to mend.

Nearby is the country they call life. And it calls to us over and over again.

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Guinness bread

How to Eat a Peach, Diana Henry

Makes one loaf

When grey permeates the landscape and my heart, I retreat to the kitchen to make bread. Just like the quick fennel bread I talked about recently, this lovely loaf from the brilliant food writer Diana Henry comes together without fuss. It fills the house with warmth and the scent of goodness and is perfect for those who appreciate the deep, malty notes that stour imparts.

With a dense, moist crumb and a slightly sweet, malty flavour profile, it’s an excellent accompaniment to soups, stews, or simply slather on the butter for a real treat.

Ingredients

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small cubes, plus more for the loaf pan

½ cup whole wheat flour

¾ cup all-purpose flour

⅓ cup rolled oats, plus extra to top the bread

¼ teaspoon baking soda

sea salt flakes

2 tablespoons soft dark brown sugar

¾ cup Guinness stout

2 tablespoons dark molasses

1 scant cup buttermilk

1. Heat the oven to 350°F. Butter two small loaf pans, about 8” x 4” x 2”

2. Mix the flours and oatmeal, the baking soda, and 1/4 teaspoon salt in a bowl. Rub in the butter with your fingers. Stir in the sugar.

3. Combine the Guinness, molasses, and buttermilk in a measuring cup. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients. Gradually pour in the liquid, mixing with a butter knife as you go. Don’t over-mix or you will end up with a wet dough. Pour into the prepared pan and sprinkle with rolled oats.

4. Bake for 40 to 50 minutes. To test if it’s cooked, remove from the pan and tap the bottom. If it sounds hollow, it’s ready. If not, bake for a little longer, but don’t overcook or it’ll be dry. Invert onto a wire rack and let cool.