The Question I Didn't Know How to Answer

Sometimes the best things I've made began with the words, "I don't know."

This morning, as I sat with my coffee, Scripture, and journal, my thoughts wandered to a question I was asked at market many months ago.

It wasn't a question about sourdough.

It wasn't about hydration.

Or fermentation.

Or even baking.

A customer was standing at my table purchasing a loaf of bread when she looked up and asked,

"How do I store the bread?"

I smiled.

Then answered as honestly as I could.

"I don't know...but I'll find out."

I've come to appreciate those words.

There was a time in my life when I thought I should have all the answers.

Now, I think there is something deeply freeing about simply saying,

"I don't know."

Not because the conversation ends there.

Because curiosity begins there.

So I went home and did what has become a familiar rhythm for me.

I started learning.

I researched the best way to store fresh sourdough bread.

I read article after article.

Watched video after video.

Somewhere along the way, YouTube introduced me to something I had never heard of before.

Beeswax bread bags.

That one question quietly led me down another rabbit hole.

Soon I found myself watching hours of videos, learning how to make them.

I drove to the craft store and bought fabric.

I cut pieces that weren't quite right.

I melted beeswax.

Pressed.

Folded.

Tried again.

Like sourdough, they didn't become beautiful the first time.

Or the second.

But little by little, I learned.

Today, those same bags have become one of my favorite things on my market table.

Not because I planned it.

Because a customer asked a question I couldn't answer.

One of the sweetest surprises has been hearing people come back the following week and say,

"Oh my gosh...you were right."

"I kept one of your loaves in the bag for a week, and it never grew stale or moldy."

Every single time someone tells me that, I smile.

Not because I made the bag.

Because I was able to help someone enjoy their bread just a little longer.

Then something else began happening.

People would pick one up, look at it for a moment, and ask,

"You make these?"

I still love that question.

I usually grab one, turn it inside out, and show them exactly how it's made.

There isn't much mystery.

Just cotton fabric, beeswax, and a little patience.

I think people enjoy seeing the inside as much as the outside.

Perhaps because handmade things carry a story.

Then there are the moments I never expected.

Someone walks past my booth.

They aren't looking at the bread.

They're looking at the bags.

They stop.

Turn around.

Walk back.

Then ask, almost excitedly,

"Are these what I think they are?"

"Are these beeswax bread bags?"

"I've been looking everywhere for these!"

Imagine that.

Someone comes to market looking for a beeswax bread bag...

And leaves with a loaf of sourdough.

There is one little detail I especially love.

I purchase my beeswax pellets from an apiarist in Kentucky.

While learning about beeswax, I discovered something fascinating.

If bees spend their days gathering nectar from fields of lavender, the wax can sometimes carry the gentle fragrance of lavender.

As beautiful as that sounds, I intentionally choose unscented beeswax.

These bags are meant to hold fresh bread.

When someone opens one, I want the first thing they smell to be sourdough.

Not perfume.

The beeswax does something remarkable.

It creates a breathable barrier around the bread.

It helps regulate moisture instead of trapping it, allowing the loaf to keep the crisp crust and tender crumb that make fresh sourdough so special.

Simple.

Natural.

Effective.

As I thought about all of this, it occurred to me that those bags have become one of the greatest surprises of my bakery.

Not the bags themselves.

The way they came to be.

They were never part of the plan.

They were born from one customer's question.

I think about that a lot.

How many beautiful things in our lives begin because we are willing to admit we don't know something?

How many unexpected gifts are waiting just beyond our curiosity?

If that customer had never asked me how to store bread...

I never would have learned how to make beeswax bread bags.

Sometimes the things we become known for are the very things we never intended to create.

They begin with a question.

A willingness to learn.

And the quiet decision to keep saying,

"I don't know...but I'll find out."

Warmly,

Kathy
Art of The Crumb