On Jumping on Bandwagons and Defying the Odds

I made this bread from a sourdough start given to me in September 2024.

I have yet to learn the finer points of carving leaves or embellishments to beautify the top, as you can clearly see. Perhaps you've seen such loaves in your social media feeds; everyone and their Aunt Lillian seem to be making sourdough bread these days. You really can't swing a dead cat without finding another post on sourdough. I was astonished to even see posts on Marketplace - lotsa bread going around these days.

And seriously - homemade bread? I GET IT.

I'm generally not a huge fan of bandwagons of this sort. I wouldn't watch Dallas. I refused to read The Work and the Glory, though I'm rethinking that one. If everybody's doing it, I have this perverse need to... NOT.

But bread...

Also, there's the wheat I've stored for apocalyptic winter. If I can't turn it into bread, then what was the point?

Also, my mother used to tell me about this book she'd read about two old women in an Eskimo tribe who were left behind because they could no longer contribute to the collective survival of the tribe. As they learned to keep themselves alive on their own, their paths eventually crossed with the tribe that had exiled them - and ended up saving the very community which had shunned them.

I've thought about that story a lot - particularly as one of the least practical-skilled people I know. Do I bring anything to the table that would make it worth a community keeping me alive? I seriously doubted it.

Learning to make bread had become about more than making use of all that wheat. It was about more than jumping on an abhorrent bandwagon. It was about beating the odds of my own impractical skill set. Learning to make bread had become about mastering something I didn't think I could do. It had become about having a skill of self reliance. Suddenly, I could tell why people jokingly said sourdough was the gateway drug to chickens and bees.

It's about the question: am I capable of doing anything to keep myself alive?

My first attempt at sourdough was many years ago. A dear friend, RaeLynne, gave me two starts: one made with white flour, and one made with wheat flour. That way I could make bread whether I had freshly milled wheat on hand or not. Because she knew my ADHD could seriously endanger the mission, we grimly named these two starts. The white start, being slightly more domesticated, we named Peta. The wheat start, slightly less tamed, we named Katniss. These seemed the perfect names, as we both recognized: the odds may not be in their favor.

Having two starts was waaaaaaaay too much for my brain at that time. Peta didn't make it. I tried to tell myself Katniss was heartier, and would be fed almost exclusively by the wheat in my basement, so maybe it was just as well.

I could not get a decent loaf out of Katniss to save. My. Life. It was tasty and flavorful, and this is how I know this, besides tasting it. When RaeLynne moved to Texas, another friend who is a sourdough guru - Rhonda - came to see whether Katniss was worth saving, and try to figure out what I was doing wrong. She carefully tasted the start itself and pronounced: "Oh, this start has personality."

Though few think of Katniss as Miss Congeniality, in spite of her "personality," I could not get those loaves to raise. Could. Not. I finally settled for pulling Katniss out of the freezer periodically, and feeding her when I wanted to make waffles.

Fast forward to last fall. Yet another stout-hearted friend, Kari, drew me into her beautiful kitchen and taught me - AGAIN - the finer points of sourdough. I'm not sure if it was the pretty kitchen, or the fact it was the magically correct number of multiple repetitions that did it, but I think even I saw the lightbulb over my head that day. I GOT IT. I finally understood when the start was happy enough to make a great loaf of bread.

I took a new white flour start home that day with a lump of dough from my friend's start. I named this new start Peta in honor of the fallen tribute of yesteryear.

I haven't bought bread since.

I even got a little brazen and pulled Katniss from her happy, cryogenic state to attempt what I thought was the impossible. With a little coaching from Kari, Katniss has produced actual raised loaves made with freshly milled wheat from my basement. For the record, I concur with Rhonda; Katniss does have personality. She also makes a heck of a cracker (thank you, Courtney and Alisha).

I have to wonder if my ability to juggle keeping two starts alive and productive has had anything to do with my keeping kefir grains alive for the last nearly two and a half years. And I don't just pull that one out periodically, no, no. I feed the kefir grains almost every single day. Oddly, I haven't felt the need to name this little gal. Guy? Oh, wait. Milk in French is 'le lait.' It's a guy. I'll get back to you.

For those of you keeping score at home, this surprise addition to our story brings our total of Living Organisms Laureen is Keeping Alive in Her Home to three. Dale largely keeps himself alive and has for lo, these many years. Heck, he kept me alive when I couldn't move. But these three fermented entities depend solely upon me for their survival. And against all odds, all three are thriving.

I think I might be ready for children.