Foggy Day Sourdough

It's foggy! We rarely get fog. I love fog as much as I love snow. I just set up a batch of sourdough. I don't measure I just start scooping out of the various bags of flour I have in my freezer. Then I pour in water from my pitcher. I scoop some salt and pour in my sourdough starter I have rising in a wide-mouth jar on the door or of my fridge. I have kept this starter alive for 12 years, or should I say it has kept ME alive for 12 years. I love to mix the batter with my hands! It's like quicksand pulling me into the bowl. I hide it in Bill's piano shop to rise in a covered bowl, away from our cat. I will bake it later today.

Suddenly I notice all of the sticky goop on the shelf of the fridge door. I take all the vinegars and condiments out and wipe the plastic shelf down in the sink. Inspired I decide to dust and remove the clumps of dog hair on my ankle to knee-high kitchen shelves. I take out all of the jars and canisters filled with spices, tea dried fruit and trinkets off and wipe down the shelves and jars. I leave the room with everything sitting in the middle of the floor.

I love to bake bread because baking creates home, smells good, and is as much fun as playing with clay. And it sustains us.