02/26/2026
It’s been just shy of a year since I brought home my sourdough starter.
Every week since, no matter how chaotic life feels, I come back to the counter. Hands in dough.
Bread doesn’t care about my to-do list.
It won’t rise faster because I’m in a hurry.
It responds to time, attention, and patience.
The other day, after a completely frenetic afternoon, I walked in with a hundred things to do. Instead of tackling any of them, I reached for my starter.
As I’ve been shaping dough, the last few years have been shaping me.
I’ve realized I don’t want a life that proves I was busy.
I want one that proves I was present.
Sourdough helps.
I always make two loaves, one to keep and one to share.
Love multiplies when you pass it on.
Turns out, bread has been teaching me many important lessons.
And I’m still learning.
Who wants a starter? 🤍
