I made my sourdough starter in the autumn of 2016 under the apple trees. Each morning I stirred water and flour together and brought the jar out to sit in the apple-scented air beneath the trees that were heavy with fruit. They were beginning to drop their harvest on the ground for deer and the bees, and for us to make cider.
Learning to bake with sourdough was a grounding practice, a delicious excuse to keep trying and a way to feed my family that connected me in heart and hand to generations of women who came before me.
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