From Store-Bought to Sourdough: A Witty Tale of Flour, Flexibility, and Finding My Groove

When my children were little, I had a vision—scratch that, several visions. One included me as a homesteading queen, complete with a self-sufficient lifestyle, jars of pickles lining the pantry, and a cow named Daisy grazing peacefully in the backyard. The reality? No cow (unless you count the milk carton), but plenty of late-night Googling about "how to make literally everything from scratch."

Why? Because I wanted to know what I was feeding my family. I wanted to be sure I was giving them the best I could manage at the time—emphasis on manage. Let’s face it: some weeks, "homemade everything" meant a lovingly baked casserole. Other weeks? It meant sandwiches hastily thrown together while convincing a toddler not to color on the walls.

As my visions shifted—because life has a way of throwing curveballs—I learned to embrace a back-to-nature approach that worked with my life, not against it. I stopped chasing perfection and started focusing on progress. My goal wasn’t to create a picture-perfect homestead but to craft a lifestyle where I felt connected to what I was feeding my family, where food was more than just fuel—it was a way to show love, care, and intention.

Enter sourdough.

Now, I’d love to tell you my first loaf came out golden and glorious, filling the house with the smell of triumph. But no—my first loaf was more "artisan frisbee" than artisan bread. My sourdough journey was a comedy of errors, complete with exploding jars of starter and loaves that could double as doorstops. But something about the process kept pulling me back. There was a rhythm to it, a simplicity that felt grounding, even in the chaos of life with little ones.

Sourdough became more than bread; it became a metaphor. It taught me patience, persistence, and the art of adapting when things don’t go as planned (which, let’s be honest, happens a lot when you’re parenting).

Fast-forward to today, and while I may not live in a full-blown homestead, I do embrace many homesteading practices. I bake sourdough weekly, grow some of our own food, and try to balance intention with flexibility—because let’s face it, some weeks the sourdough gets baked, and other weeks we’re diving into the frozen pizza stash.

This blog is my way of sharing that journey—the lessons, the laughs, and yes, the many failures that led me to unlock the secrets of sourdough. I’ll walk you through the process, one bubbly starter and sticky dough ball at a time. Because if I can learn to bake bread that my family loves (and that doesn’t double as a weapon), you can too.

So, whether you’re a sourdough novice or someone who’s been elbow-deep in flour for years, welcome. Let’s embrace the beauty of homemade, the hilarity of mistakes, and the joy of doing our best—whatever that looks like this week.

Let’s get baking. 🍞