It is, simply put, the sweetest of strolls.
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Most Thursday afternoons for the past six months or so, my wife, my daughter and I have set out in the direction of downtown along Fall Hill Avenue, bearing right just past the Canal Path crossing to head up Prince Edward Street.
Within a block, our destination appears in the distance. At first glance, the sturdy beige receptacle anchored at the edge of the sidewalk resembles any of the several free little libraries scattered around our city.
The difference lies behind its glass door. You won’t find any novels here: think snickerdoodles, not Shakespeare; palmiers in lieu of paperbacks.
Instead, the Little Free Bakery Fredericksburg offers a different baked good each week — free of charge — for neighbors and passersby alike.
Paul Eakin and his wife Jenny derived inspiration for the complimentary confection stand from their daughter-in-law, Paige Stocks, who helps operate a free bakery in Ballard, a neighborhood in Seattle. Stocks and Eakin’s son, Noah, recently spent six months with the couple in Fredericksburg, during which time they helped to get the project cooking (baking?).
Paige assisted Eakin with the earliest bakes, and Noah built the wooden box. After the kids left in February, “we’ve just been continuing to do it, and it is so much fun,” Eakin says.
Little Free Bakery FXBG. Paul Eakin’s son, Noah, built the box last year. (Photo by Jeff Kearney.)
On a recent Wednesday, Eakin, clad in a bright red apron, cranes over his kitchen island as he prepares a batch of snickerdoodles. He carefully coats tablespoonfuls of dough in a spice mixture before placing them onto the prepared sheet pan. They’re cardamom snickerdoodles, he explains, a wrinkle from your typical dusting of cinnamon sugar.
Most weeks, this is how the Little Free Bakery works. Eakin does the baking, and Jenny preps the ingredients and mise en place.
“She doesn’t like the spotlight,” he says. “She doesn’t really like to bake, although she’s a good baker. But what we found is a love of doing something new together.”
Eakin, an almost-retired real estate broker, doesn’t have much of a baking background. Jenny bought him a cookbook entitled “Sheet Pan Sweets,” and each week, he simply picks a different recipe.
Recently, Eakin has taken to leaving out an extra batch once the typical pickup window has ended.
“People take them during the middle of the night,” he says. “So I’m guessing that folks that might be homeless or people that are just out late and walking back or something, that it’s becoming well enough known that they see that and it’s like, good for us. We don’t have to take any of that stuff back.”
I don’t think he’s considered the possibility of local dads absconding on late-night “jogs” on those Thursdays when the featured bake contains their child’s allergens. Regardless, if the empty box each Friday morning is any indication, the bakery is becoming a known commodity around the neighborhood.
By the time we reach the box, Paul is usually on his porch, sharing a drink and/or conversation with neighbors. My daughter Effie, who, at age 7, is already every bit the long-form storyteller her dad is, usually joins them while my wife Katie and I secure the (baked) goods. (Sorry, Paul).
The first treat of each week, however, is reserved for Tony. He’s the Eakins’ 100-year-old neighbor, who lives across the street. Paul hand-delivers one of whatever he’s prepared before the bakery opens, usually around 4:30 p.m. on Thursdays.
“And he’s always just so happy,” he says. “And, man, that’s what it’s all about, just making folks happy, just a little something to do during the week.”
Stocks, whose Ballard bakery turned three in February, echoed that sentiment over the phone from Seattle: “Something as simple as a chocolate chip cookie goes a long way.”
When I interviewed him, Eakin was preparing for a hip replacement surgery that figures to keep him out of the kitchen for at least a few weeks. He figured the bakery would go on hiatus during his recovery.
But when he informed his neighbors, one after another volunteered to step up as guest bakers, each taking a week over the next month.
“Isn’t that great?” he said.
