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