Today is Lughnasadh, the ancient Celtic celebration honoring the first harvest. One of the 8 holy days in the Wheel of the Year. Today my loaves and bagels came out beautiful, despite my worries about my dough yesterday. For this harvest and the “dough” it will bring me, I give thanks.  I’ve been participating in the process of wheat harvest and bread making my entire existence. Picking the rocks from the fields, watching the soil being tilled, tasting the gritty dust between my teeth, witnessing the wheat quietly grow under its blanket of snow on my winding path to the school bus on frosty  winter mornings. Sensing the energy of earthly excitement as the stalks shot up when the earth sprang forth from the deep sleep of winter and spring brought the warmth of the hot Okanogan Valley sun. The wind rustling through the golden shafts and the smell of desert rain as it fell in the dusty August days. Visions of my dad, kerchief tied around his face, while driving the combine harvester. Diving …