T-minus 20 minutes until I check on my sourdough loaf in the oven. With that time, I write. About bread. About the joy of having an uncut loaf, where I get to decide the width of each slice. Thick for decadent, fluffy French toast. Then thin when I just need a little something to hold me over. It’s been at least two months since I last bought a loaf of bread, and after today’s haul—four massive bags of King Arthur bread flour—I should be set for the next six months, maybe longer.
Visits from our Washington friends and family are starting to stack up. First, my parents—for their third trip to Georgia since we moved here six months ago. Next, my best gal pal, Kristen. Just this morning, she told me that after her fiancé said, “Just go. There’s never going to be a perfect time for me to tag along,” so she’s planning a late April or May trip. Then, our good friends Patrick and Susan, along with their two kids, are coming in July. And I’m curious about the missed call from my friend Paul. I haven’t called him back yet, but knowing his nomadic ways—parents in New Jersey, a friend in Florida, a love for national parks—I wouldn’t be surprised if he popped in spontaneously one day.
In sharing all this, I feel deeply loved. I’m grateful that our move here hasn’t made us an isolated island like the Swiss Family Robinson, but instead, a hub—one where we get to share our love of country life. With a pool. Don’t forget the pool!
A sideways glance tells me the bread is breading. I stood, walked to the oven, and because the loaf has domed so high, I had to open the door to get a better look at its busty bosom.
Holy cow. Only 11 minutes in, and that thing has already grown by a third. Along its long edges, the dough has stretched and torn upward, reminding me of the marks a woman’s skin carries after childbirth. I used to fear those marks—any radical, lasting change to my body. So, for the last few months of pregnancy, I religiously applied an organic baby oil-like lotion that probably had nothing to do with my unchanged skin afterwards. Because as we know good genes have everything to do with it.
I changed one step in my bread-making process today, and I’m hoping it’ll fix the slight doughiness in the center. Someone in the Sourdough Geeks Facebook group suggested proofing longer before baking. I almost did that. But time got in the way. It always does. Bedtime tapped its finger on its watch face at 10:30pm and said “You best get baking!”
Tomorrow, we’re heading to the Perry International Festival—with 25 countries’ foods, dances, and cultural traditions at the fairgrounds. Then Sunday, we’re driving to Columbus, Georgia, to hike Providence Canyon, aka “Georgia’s Little Grand Canyon.” It’s a lot, but I think it’ll be the good kind of a lot.
I just took a picture for you—it’ll be tonight’s post photo. I couldn’t help but show off my Washington love: hand towel, cutting board, and the shadowy figure of the bread in the background. I gave it another five minutes in the oven after a bit of dough clung to the thermometer tip. It should be good now.
Lots of love to you.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 