Another Saturday

 Good things are loading. The smell of a gentle smoke fire wafts through the open screen door, hinting of the smoked meat ever-so-slowly melting for a mouth-watering pork dinner tonight. My first sourdough loaf in many years is rising in the oven, rising to the very lid of my biggest pot; so big I should have made two loaves, but this is my first time with this recipe. I have a lot to learn. Still, I feel a surge of pride to have worked with time and bacteria and milled wheat and humble salt and water to produce a spongy, puffy, pillowy dough that now bakes in the oven and fills our whole house with the smell of a bakery. I wonder if the neighbors notice it as they amble past in the clear sunshine and crisp air this morning. For the end of May, the weather is unseasonably chilly, but the bright sun and breeze feel perfect in a sweatshirt. 

Annie is napping off a painful red bottom, somehow I missed it was dirty. She's also recovering from a ruptured eardrum, sweet girl. I revel in her cuddles once they all woke up and climbed in our bed early this morning. I revel in the soft curls at the nape of her neck as I stroke her head in my lap, having administered the antibiotic ear drops. She is calmer than I expect. 

The bread comes out, perfectly imperfect, laughably large. My first really successful sourdough loaf. She basks in the sunlight. I wait patiently to slice her open and examine the crumb.