Rustic country loaf with wild yeast

It really is all about timing sometimes.

This week I tried to make my bread with a wild starter I had made from scratch.  And when I say scratch, I mean it.  Flour and water.  That is it.  I have used sourdough starters before when my sister had given me some of hers. I cared for and fed it and used it for bread, but I had never created one out of thin air before.  This time was different.  I wrote previously about reading this book and being inspired to create my own starter, and so I did.  For those not used to the language of a starter, it is basically a small amount of pre-fermented dough you use as the natural leavening to make your bread rise.  It took about a good week or more to get my starter going in a reliable way.  I discarded about 2/3s of it every morning and fed it with fresh flour and water like a new pet.

After my starter was working properly, I moved on to the next steps to make a loaf of bread.  I felt like I needed to attempt it on the weekend as the process was long, and I wanted to have plenty of time to work through the different stages.  The basic steps are simple themselves, but woven together are a bit more complex.   Essentially, the process starts with a small amount of concentrated starter, which you, in turn, make into a larger amount of leaven by adding flour and water and waiting about 8 hours, before turning that into the dough by mixing it with an even larger amount of flour and water.  Then you let the dough rest for a short period and knead in some salt and more water.  Then it is a bulk rise/first fermentation for about 3-4 hours, then a dividing and shaping, another short rest, and then a serious of folding, and then, finally, more rest–at least 3-4 hours, but up to 8-12 hours.  Phew!

The first time through, I kept checking the notes over and over.  I was pretty glad that the recipe was 30 plus pages at that point, so I could dive into it the details.  But honestly, it sort of felt like I had stumbled across a complex dance and was attempting to teach myself while reading about it.  I even had to have my husband read and explain the complex folding details to me the first time through.  Individually they aren’t that hard but trying to understand the words to describe the dance without watching it was a stretch my first time through.

Because my first time through felt like, well, Greek to me, I really relied on the timing of the recipe.  Even though the author exhorted me to listen to the dough, not the timing charts, I just wanted to rely on the estimated times and was scared to stray from the outline.  And the loaves turned out just okay.  They were not really that spectacular, and I knew immediately that I had to retry.  The second time was completely different.  Nothing went with the timing I was expecting per the instructions.  The leaven rose and was ready in 3 hours, not 8, forcing me to make the dough at about 10:30 pm on Monday night.  Then it was a bulk rise fermentation overnight, with a 4:30 am wakeup and early morning chill and shaping session.  Then an all day in the fridge second rest, before baking in the evening.  But boy did listening to the dough work.  I moved when it was ready, and wow, that is all the difference.

And so, I guess you could say it was inevitable that I needed to listen to the Spirit this week when I went to decide who would get my bread.  I set out in the evening with my bread wrapped and tagged for a giveaway with just the idea that I would go drive and see what happened.  I had a vague idea of what I would do.  I basically thought, I will go to Trader Joe’s (we always need bananas), and I will see if there is someone there I can give my bread to.  Maybe there will be someone hungry for bread or connection just waiting for me.  That is not to say I was not apprehensive and truly a little fearful as I set out.  I kept thinking what if I tried to give my bread to someone and they just looked at me like I was crazy?  What if they refused my bread, or me, or what I was trying to do.  I reasoned that there wasn’t much I could do if that happened, so all I could do was mentally shrug these thoughts off and push them aside.  As I stepped out my door, I tried to listen for inspiration, and I tried to see the people around me the way God sees them.  I will be honest that it felt almost magical.  True story, that is probably the first (and last?) time a Trader Joe’s parking lot at 5:30 pm has ever been described as magical.

When I pulled in to the parking lot, there was no indication of my who.  I did find a parking space right in front (see, magical) and before I went in, I said a little prayer.  Let me know who.  And let it be clear.  I went through the doors, took an immediate left and was probably 20 feet into the store when I saw her.  A family friend of my very good friend.  She looked up and gave me the warmest smile and I KNEW.  That was it.  I walked right over and told her, “I was supposed to meet you here tonight!”  What I love is that she didn’t express shock or look confused.  She just listened.  I told her about my project, and I asked if I could give her some bread.  And she was so excited, and I believe felt loved exactly in the way she was intended to.

The best part of the story is that she had just gotten back from vacation a few hours before and debated whether or not she should even go to the store that night, but talked herself into.  When she added that final piece to the story, suddenly, all the timing from the last week–the misfired bread on the weekend, the speeded up leaven the second time through–all of it made sense.  I had a date at Trader Joe’s that I didn’t even realize when I set out to capture this wild yeast and make bread.  It was all planned.  I just needed to be open to it.

As I got back into my car (yes, with my bananas), my heart was full and on fire.  To be able to be a part of something bigger felt so amazing.  And then a song came on the radio. Fear is a liar. Just like that, I had a new anthem for the week.  So this week I celebrate not listening to fear and being brave in the service of something bigger.  And to wherever it takes you–even if it is just to the corner grocery store.