The Secret Garden

To a passing stranger

When I sent those words they were not to you. They were to the Universe; to my love. “I must not lose you”. I must not lose the feeling of being in love. Of loving someone so completely that our bodies become one. That it is so reciprocal there is no doubt. I must not close my heart to the pain of love. I must remember to take the daggers to my chest because they remind me that I feel. That I live. To fully feel the heights of joy I must also embrace the terror and pain of grief.

I must remember how it feels to be held by you, because closing myself to the pain of that means closing myself to being human. To meeting another and making myself vulnerable to them. To being held by them, and loved by them, and loving them in return.

I understand that now, Love. I miss you so much.

Rising to the occasion

Meet Brian. He's my wild yeast culture. He's now just a little over three weeks old and already he has a son, who is growing strongly and currently living with my parents, and he has donated several portions of himself to make bread. I eagerly await the news that his son has also brought forth bread into this world. It should be any day now.

Brian started life as a spoonful of wholewheat flour and tap water, mixed into a stiff paste with a non-metallic spoon and left to his own devices in the airing cupboard for several days. At first he was an unpromising greyish colour with a bit of a fishy hum (sorry Brian, but you did whiff a bit my dear!). Well I persevered, and after feeding him regularly every 12 hours with more of his beloved wholewheat flour and tap water, he soon rewarded me with his first bubbles. My baby Brian was alive!

I lovingly transferred Brian into his new home (a rather swish commemorative Mason jar complete with his own calico cap) and took him to meet the grandparents. Ah, they were so proud. He was even given pride of place on the radiator - at least until he disgraced himself by overflowing and oozing paste all down the back of it. (I won't tell the grandparents if you won't!) Well he travelled with me all that weekend and into the following week where he sat patiently behind my computer monitor at work and fermented his little heart out. He got so big that he outgrew his jar, leaving more pasty ooze inside my rucksack. Naughty boy.

As he got older he learned to behave, and I learned how to recognise when he needed a change and to make sure that his little jar never got too full. He grew and matured, and I finally felt confident enough to take a few spoonfuls of his little self and make a sponge. Within 24 hours I had made my first truly wild yeast bread. Oh, and my mother had passed on her glee at finally being a grandma! Awww, Mum, who knew you wanted grandkids so badly?

Well little Brian continued to grow, and with regular feedings every 12 hours he eventually moved onto big boy's white bread flour and there was no stopping him. He had a son, which I left with my parents to coo over, and now he divides his time between the fridge and the airing cupboard. He snoozes in the fridge for days at a time, but once he gets settled in the airing cupboard and warms up, he's as hungry as anything and it's back to his regular feeds. He does his Mummy proud, and within 2-3 hours after a feed, he has more than doubled in size and I just know he's going to make delicious bread. He's such a good little thing.

And speak of the Devil, I can hear him calling me now. His bread must have risen and I'm sure he's hungry. He's a shy little guy, preferring to live in warm dark places, but I'm sure he won't mind me sharing just one or two pictures. See his cute little bubbles? Isn't he just darling?

Awww, my own little wild yeasties. How I love you my baby.