A Year of Sourdough: Lessons in Flour, Faith, and Fermentation

A Year of AOTC

It is hard to believe that it has been a full year since I first mixed flour and water in a jar, hoping for signs of life.

Looking back at the beginning of my sourdough journey, I remember the uncertainty. I remember staring at my starter, wondering if it was bubbly enough, and the nervous anticipation of pulling those first few loaves out of the oven. What started as a quest for a simple loaf of bread has quietly transformed into a daily rhythm—a practice that anchors my days here in Clarksville.

Over the last 365 days, my kitchen has seen hundreds of loaves. Some were perfect, with tall ears and airy crumbs. Others were... well, let’s just say they were humble lessons in humility. But every single one taught me something.

Here is what a year of sourdough has taught me about baking, and about life.

Perfection is Not the Goal; Presence Is

In the beginning, I was chasing the "Instagram-perfect" loaf. I wanted the wild open crumb and the intricate scoring patterns immediately. But sourdough quickly humbled me.

I learned that you cannot force the dough. You cannot negotiate with fermentation. If the kitchen is cold on a winter morning in Tennessee, the dough needs more time. If it’s a humid summer afternoon, it moves faster.

I learned to stop watching the clock and start watching the dough. I learned to be present with the process. Sourdough requires you to show up, pay attention, and respond to what is right in front of you. It’s a beautiful reminder that joy isn’t found in rushing to the finish line, but in being faithful to the work of the moment.

Intuition Over Instruction

When I started, I followed recipes to the gram, terrified to deviate. A year later, baking has become less of a formula and more of a feeling.

I’ve learned to "listen" with my hands. I know the feeling of a dough that has been strengthened enough, and the specific jiggle of a starter that is at its peak. This shift from rigid instruction to gentle intuition has been incredibly freeing. It has given me the confidence to experiment, trusting that I know enough to guide the dough home.

An Invisible, Living Connection

Perhaps the most profound thing I’ve learned came from something I read recently.

There is an article called "Sourdough Hands" that explores how bakers and their bread are actually a "microbial match." The science suggests that a baker’s hands transfer unique microbes into the dough, meaning that my starter is biologically influenced by me.

This resonated so deeply with my spirit. I have always felt an inexplicable bond with my bread, but knowing this made it tangible. It means I am quite literally poured into these loaves. They carry a unique signature that cannot be replicated by anyone else.

This realization changed how I view sharing my bread. When I hand a loaf to a neighbor or slice bread for a community dinner, it isn’t just a transaction of food. It is a deep, human exchange. By sharing this bread, I am sharing a part of myself, creating a connection that is invisible but deeply meaningful. It is a reminder that we are all woven together in ways we can’t always see.

Community is Built at the Table

While the technical skills have been rewarding to learn, the true heart of this year has been the people.

Bringing Art of The Crumb to life has shown me that bread is a universal language. I have seen how a simple loaf can brighten a neighbor's day or bring dignity to a meal at the local food pantry. I’ve learned that people are hungry—not just for sustenance, but for the care that comes with something homemade.

Every time I score a loaf, I think about who might eat it. Will it be a family gathered for dinner? A friend needing comfort? A stranger at the community center? That intention turns a chore into a ministry.

Looking Ahead

As I head into my second year of sourdough, my kitchen feels more alive than ever. Cooper is still underfoot hoping for a dropped piece of crust, and Tobie still supervises from his perch. The rhythm of feeding the starter, mixing, folding, and baking has become the heartbeat of my home.

To everyone who has followed along, tasted a loaf, or shared a kind word this past year—thank you. You have helped turn a quiet healing hobby into a community.

Here’s to another year of slow mornings, hot ovens, and breaking bread together.

Warmly,

Kathy

Art of The Crumb

A Little More About AOTC

How Art of The Crumb Was Born

Art of The Crumb didn’t begin as a business plan.
It began as a moment of quiet healing in my kitchen.

Like so many chapters in my life, sourdough found me when I needed it most. What started as a simple experiment—mixing flour and water, waiting, trusting—slowly became a source of grounding and comfort. In the midst of life’s changes, losses, and transitions, baking sourdough offered me something steady. Something alive. Something hopeful.

Sourdough asks for patience. It teaches you to slow down, to observe, to respond rather than rush. And in that gentle rhythm of feeding a starter, folding dough, and waiting for fermentation to work its magic, I began to feel whole again.

A Love Language, Reimagined

For as long as I can remember, feeding people has been my love language.

As a mother of four, much of my life was spent nurturing my family through home-cooked meals and from-scratch baking. Over the years—whether in California, Connecticut, or now Tennessee—my kitchen has always been a place of comfort, conversation, and care.

Sourdough felt like a natural extension of that instinct to nourish. Simple ingredients. Traditional methods. No shortcuts. Just flour, water, salt, and time—transformed into something deeply satisfying.

Each loaf felt personal. No two were ever exactly the same, and I loved that. The cracks in the crust, the open crumb, the tang that develops only through slow fermentation—every detail told a story.

Faith, Service, and the Power of Bread

My faith has always been a quiet but steady source of strength in my life—especially during seasons of loss and rebuilding. It has taught me that nourishment goes beyond food, and that even the simplest acts can be a form of service.

As my sourdough journey grew, it felt natural to share it not only with friends and neighbors, but also with those in need. Today, I bake bread for our local food pantry and for the community dinners they host—loaves made with the same care, patience, and quality as any other.

There is something deeply meaningful about breaking bread together. In those moments, bread becomes more than sustenance; it becomes comfort, dignity, and connection. Being able to contribute in this way has been one of the most humbling and rewarding parts of my baking journey.

From Healing to Sharing

Before long, friends and family began asking for bread. Then neighbors. Then people I barely knew, but who had heard about “that sourdough Kathy makes.”

I’d deliver loaves still warm from the oven and later receive messages about slices eaten straight off the cutting board, crusts crackling, butter melting into the crumb. Those small moments reminded me that bread has the power to bring people together.

That’s when Art of The Crumb quietly took shape.

What began as a personal form of healing grew into a way to serve others—through my community, my faith, and my kitchen.

Rooted in Tradition, Made with Heart

Today, from my cozy kitchen in Clarksville, Tennessee, I craft small-batch sourdough bread using high-quality, organic ingredients and time-honored techniques. Every loaf is shaped by hand, fermented naturally, and baked with intention.

My baking is inspired by California roots, Connecticut years, and Southern hospitality—blending tradition, warmth, and a whole lot of heart. Alongside classic loaves, I love experimenting with starters and specialty baked goods, always guided by intuition and care.

And of course, I’m never truly baking alone. Cooper, my loyal white Lab, is always nearby, and Tobie, my orange cat and unofficial bakery mascot, keeps watch from afar.

An Open Invitation

Art of The Crumb is more than bread. It’s a story of resilience, faith, community, and finding joy again through simple, meaningful work.

Whether you’re a fellow sourdough baker, someone seeking nourishing food, or simply someone who believes in the power of sharing a meal, I’m so glad you’re here. My hope is that every loaf brings comfort, connection, and a reminder that love—like sourdough—grows when it’s shared.

Thank you for being part of this journey, one crumb at a time.