Charles van Heck's Woodhull Journal

Take an early morning walk down Evoraberg’s Main Street when the only stoplight in town is flashing yellow. The glow of street lights create haloes on the road. Darkened storefront display windows stare empty-eyed as if in a trance. A car slips past, its tires whine as it fades into the predawn darkness. The October air is crisp. At the corner of Main and Wellsville Street, storefront lights gleam on the sidewalk. The air is redolent with the aroma of baking bread from the Upper Crust Bakery.

On entering, Sherri Horlow’s smile is warm and friendly. She is arranging a display. The scents that come to the nostrils are hypnotic. The aromas immediately go to the waistline, expanding it by a few inches.

The fragrance of freshly baked bread and the sight of German crumb cake, Napoleons, apple fritters, Long Johns, Bavarian cream, maple-glazed and jelly doughnuts, bear claws, crullers and French crullers, fresh fruit and cheese danishes, not to mention cookies, are the usual fare.

Sherri, her husband Bruce, and Geoffrey “Off” Lanier, a pastry chef, begin their day in the bakery at four in the morning, opening the door at nine from Monday to Saturday. The doors close at three. They are closed on Holidays and from Christmas Day through the end of January, when they leave for Florida.

“Bruce enjoys fishing. He thinks he’s Hemingway catching marlin and swordfish,” Sherri said. When asked how she spends her vacation time, Sherri smiled. “Being with friends who retired to Ridge Manor. We take trips to Key West. It’s a wonderful and diverse place.” Bruce nodded. “Good fishing and good food.” Sherri agreed, but quickly added that she wouldn’t want to live in the Keys during the hurricane season.

Bruce is completely at home in the kitchen. He spends the morning working with blobs of bread dough. “I find it irresistible,” joking it comes alive, bubbling up and expanding. He has been baking bread for thirty-two years. “I didn’t know what to do after my discharge from the Army.” Bruce served for twenty years. He tells the story of finding a recipe book in an antique store. “I was hooked,” he said, dropping a lump of dough on a butcher block, an amorphous blob that would be turned into rows of brown loaves. “I’m old-fashioned about how things are done.” There was a hint of pride in his voice. On average, he kneads and bakes 30 loaves, including baguettes, 20 kaiser rolls, 40 dinner rolls, and 30 croissants, a day.

“The big demands are for loaves of country farm, milk, and potato breads,” Sherri announced, entering the kitchen carrying empty trays. “There is a demand for sourdough baguettes, but Bruce won’t make them. He says they don’t taste right.” Bruce asked if the inventory was done for the supplies they needed.

Geoffrey was a pastry chef at an upscale restaurant in Syracuse until the COVID-19 pandemic. He was laid off. In a low, soft voice, he spoke of visiting his parents in Olean. They told him about Bruce and Sherri. Sherri, who had suffered a minor stroke, was home recovering when he telephoned Bruce. “He didn’t hesitate to hire me. Sight and skills unseen and untested.” Bruce interrupted. “Maybe I trust people too much.” Geoffrey chuckled, “Yeah, for all you knew, I could’ve been a short-order cook at a truck stop.” Sherri, skirting to a table with trays of doughnuts, teased, “That would explain why your danish has that burger taste.”

Bruce turned his attention to a batch of blueberry muffins while Geoffrey stood at the end of a large table laid out with cookie trays. He dipped a large spoon into a batter of oatmeal raisin cookie dough. Shooting spoonfuls like the basketball player he was at St. Bonaventure University, the dough lined up in perfect rows. When asked if he ever missed, he replied, “Once. An irritating delivery guy was complaining about his route and expected us to feed him. I hit him with a spoonful of butterscotch cookie dough.”

“The cost of running a business like this is getting harder,” Sherri remarked. They almost shuttered their shop twice. Foot traffic dropped during the 2008 recession. “Bill Wickham offered to sell our bread at Wickham’s Market during the COVID pandemic.” Sherri, who was cleaning the “bins”, added, “Don’t forget Jack Klein. He placed orders for doughnuts to sell at the gas station.” Bruce nodded. “They and my military pension keep us afloat.”

Bruce and Sherri Horlow hire two high school seniors over the summer months, and one part-time during the school year, to assist behind the counter and in the kitchen. They also sponsor a Little League Baseball team. “You have to give back to your community,” Sherri says.

Bruce and Sherri are retiring. Christmas Eve day will be their last in the bakery. Sherri wants to move to Ridge Manor. Bruce has reservations about leaving Evoraberg. “I’d miss our friends and singing in the church choir. Maybe I can convince Sherri to stay.” He scooped the batter into prepared muffin tins. “There’s all that craziness in Florida. And I don’t mean just the heat and humidity.” He quickly added, “Geoffrey is taking over the business.”

Geoffrey, sliding a tray of cookies into an oven, said, “Yeah, could be I’d hire you for part-time work if you qualify.” Bruce asked, half-jokingly, “Are you going to provide health care insurance?”

When leaving, the eyes linger over the display of freshly-baked goods and pastries. What to purchase, and how many are the tempting questions. There always seems to be an imp leaning over your shoulder, whispering, “One more…”

Images:

Photograph 1:  by Viktor Forgacs on Unsplash

Photograph 2:  by Inna Safa on Unsplash

Photograph 3 : by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

See more of their photography on Unsplash.

“A Baker’s Tale” © 2025 Charles van Heck