Babička’s Bakery

My grandmother was a terrible business woman. Or so I thought. She owned a Bohemian Bakery in Omaha, Nebraska. Never had a lot of money. It wasn’t until her funeral that I got a glimpse of the real story.

When my Babička passed away, the wake was blocks and blocks and blocks of people. And they didn’t leave. The stories I heard! I didn’t understand all of it, but the theme was consistent. My grandmother fed people. So many in her neighborhood were very poor. They often didn’t have money for bread. People would stop at the bakery, mouths watering, and my grandmother would add an extra item or two to their bag. She usually didn’t say anything. She’d notice their eyes as they looked at a her display case. Koláč (yeast dough with fruit/cheese/poppy seed), Medovník (a rich honey cake), flaky Kremrole (meringue-filled puff pastry), sweet braided breads like Vánočka, and her famous Bábovka (Bundt cake). Koblihy (jam-filled donuts), Buchty (sweet buns), and a perpetual crowd favorite Trdelník (a sweet dough rolled and roasted, often filled with chocolate).

She seemed to always know when a holiday, wedding or birthday was coming up. She knew when someone was out of work or struggling to cover daily expenses. A bag might be mysteriously dropped off at their home. Perhaps a note: “From a friend!” or “For your wedding day!”

With her magical smile, she would often tell visitors to the bakery that she really appreciated their feedback on a new recipe. She’d add a roll or loaf or cake to their bag. Perhaps 2 or 3, saying, “Your mom and little brother are my expert taste-testers. Can you share these with them and come back to let me know how we did? What’s missing?”

She knew her customers. They were her neighbors. They were her family. She knew their birthdays. She paid special attention to holidays and family occasions. At Christmas, extra baked goods would find their way to houses throughout her Little Bohemian neighborhood on the southside of Omaha.

During the Great Depression, my grandmother shifted her operations into another gear. Busy and broke. How can your cost of supplies climb so rapidly when your sales are shrinking? Busier than ever. At Babička’s funeral, neighbors were transported to another world as they described the sights, smells, tastes and memories emanating from that bakery, especially during the darkest days of the Great Depression. One man told me that he was not even ten years old during the depression and went out of his way almost every day just to walk by the bakery. The scent of fresh baked wonders gave him something to look forward to. When he had the courage, he’d go near the window and imagine taking just one bite from a flaky pastry. His mouth watered as he reflected on this decades-old memory. On more than one occasion, my Babička stood in the doorway and called out to him. “Could you help me? It would mean so much. Could you just try this? My Babička made this for me when I was about your age. How old are you? Well, I just loved these rolls. In fact, they were so good that you couldn’t eat just one. Will you try one? Let me know? I don’t know if they are as good as my Babička’s. Can you eat just one? Or do you need a second… and maybe a third?”

She never had much money. She didn’t have a lot saved up for a so-called dream retirement. In fact, I don’t think she ever did really retire. I guess she slowed down a little, but that wasn’t the point. That wasn’t her goal. She loved people. And showed that love by making the most heavenly baked goods you could ever imagine. People loved her right back. It was as if they could feel her love floating through the air, along with the aromas of the next batch of Koblihy. She fed a lot of people. Her baked morsels were part of every wedding, birthday, funeral, Christmas, Easter for most of a century. She took care of her customers. She rarely had much extra money left over at the end of each month. But she was never poor. She had a contagious smile, a contagious joy and a contagious laugh. The line at her wake went on for blocks and blocks and blocks. Hours and hours and hours. The smiles. The joy. The laughter. Sure, there was sadness, too, but the overall sentiment was a deep peace and joy that echoed my grandmother.

She had come to the US with her parents as a young girl. They signed away years of their lives to pay for the travels. I wish I knew more. From what I understand, they lived in a small village somewhere near Prague and couldn’t afford the transportation to the US, so they signed a contract giving several years of future labor in exchange for passage to the US. I guess it was a version of indentured servitude. My great grandparents considered it a blessing to have people helping them out along the way. They weren’t simply dropped off at the port in NY. The journey took them across the US to Omaha’s Little Bohemia.

The ripple effect of my grandmother choosing to serve people, to be love in action, even when it cost her more than just her leftovers, can be seen in the way my mother gave 52 years of her life to be a nurse. I don’t think we get to see the full ripple effect of our choices. I believe my grandmother’s actions from decades ago will continue to profoundly affect lives for many years to come. I work in a place that started out as an orphanage for kids who had no family and today focuses on senior living. Why did I choose this work? You could probably trace much of the inspiration back to my mother’s choice to serve as a nurse inspired by her mother’s choice to bring smiles and full stomachs to as many people as that little bakery could.

One of my mantras today: “See a need and fill it.” I don’t ask my team or even my kids, “Did you do this? Or this?” But I do ask them: “What needs did you see today?” and I love hearing back, “I made one of our residents smile!” or “This family needed a good moment and I was there for them.”

I’ve watched some of our senior residents hoard stuff and I understand. As you get older and older, you miss out. Your kids are all grown. A lot of times they have their stuff packed in their room, and I ask, “What are you going to do with this?” But I remember my grandmother as they explain that a crumpled and faded receipt reminds them of the trip to a small bakery when a grandson told them about his first girlfriend or deciding to try out for the team. It’s more about the memories and the meaning behind those memories than it is anything else.

I think Emerson said it: “Rings and jewels are not gifts but apologies for gifts. The only true gift is a portion of thyself.” One of our residents told me about putting envelopes on their Christmas tree. Inside the envelopes were handwritten notes of the things they did throughout the year for their loved ones. What a Christmas celebration! They would open the envelopes and see all the good they did in honor of their loved one. I just love that. Such a great idea because it really brings back the meaning and the spirit of Christmas! It’s not about the gift, it’s about the thought. I can only imagine the notes that would be on that Christmas tree about my grandma. What if all the people who lived in Omaha’s Little Bohemia could share their memories!

Oh, how much we don’t understand! I thought that perhaps my Babička didn’t understand business. Turns out that perhaps I didn’t understand life.

My Babička wasn’t such a terrible businesswoman, after all. What’s the rest of the story? Is there a lot more to the story? I don’t know. But I do know this: my little Babička touched a lot of lives. Including my mother’s and mine. And now yours. Who knows where it will go from here. Can you bake?

~ Amanda Gruber

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