I’m fully aware that sourdough is very trendy right now.

It’s not a following I’m after.

I’m not working right now, and I need something to keep me motivated.

I’m under a persistent grey cloud currently, exacerbated by the Lupron depot my oncologist has me on post breast cancer.

Well, had me on. I will not take it again, so desperately grim are its effects on my psyche. I will go back to the medicine that didn’t lay me out as this one did.

I need help. Something else to focus on.

Sourdough is a commitment.

It took me almost 2 weeks to get my starter established.

I fidgeted with the recipe, adding and subtracting water or flour, until it started to grow.

When it refused to double, I took the lid off and took it for a walk around the back yard, exposing her to natural yeasts.

She doubled the next day, and now she’s a great starter that I’ve named “Doughlene”. (Credit to my oldest son for that).

So now I have to bake.

I love baking – it has always been therapeutic to me.

Sourdough is much easier than yeast breads – no kneading is involved.

Just water, salt, and (for me) ancient grain flour.

I bake for my husband and I, and for my son and his family who live nearby.

Then about once a month, I’ll take a loaf to my parents, who live an hour away.

To keep my starter happy, I need to feed and use her at least once a week.

The lemon berry bread I make delights my grandsons, which brings much joy to this Nana.

Meanwhile…

I wake up every day with no motivation.

My spirits are low, and my anxiety is high.

The list of small goals I make for myself goes by the wayside.

The sourdough, though…

If I can just get up and feed her, I know in a few hours I will be up to make a shaggy dough, which will rest for an hour.

Every 30 minutes for 2 hours, I will stretch and fold her, coil fold her, and spray my hands with water to keep the dough from sticking to my fingers.

While I’m up, I’ll see the beautiful backyard full of flowers, and I’ll clean the pool and play with the dogs.

Then I wait for her to bulk ferment. I’m back to bed for those bours, exhausted by the weight of all the things I need to do, yet cannot gather the energy to perform.

After dinner, it’s time to form her and put her in the basket to cold ferment overnight. This doesn’t take long.

In the morning, I get up as soon as I wake, and get down the heavy Dutch oven and put it in a very hot oven, the lid resting alongside.

When the oven is ready, the boulle comes out of the fridge, and I attempt to make a neat pattern in the surface with a razor blade, finishing with the deep cut that slides across the entire surface, splitting the loaf immediately.

I place the parchment paper and bread into the Dutch oven, and put the lid on solidly.

This is the excitement of my day. What will the loaf look like? Will it expand as I hope it will? Will the slash expand and rise, leaving a crusty ear for me to ooh and aah over?

Lifting the lid brings a rush of steam, and exposes the beautiful loaf.

After 15-20 more minutes to brown, the loaf comes out and rests on the cooling rack. Once cool, I wrap it in Bees Wrap and take it to my son, along with the lemon berry bread.

It forces me out of my house, and as soon as I am getting hugs and hearing the excitement from my grandsons, it is all worth it. Every time.

Yet every time, currently, it takes a huge effort just to make this simple thing happen.

I’m grateful for sourdough.

*This Blog is not meant to be used as medical advice. All decisions I have made have been discussed with my oncologist, for my treatment.