On the fifth day, my “starter” smelled like something had crawled inside and died. “Sniff this,” I said as I held the jar beneath unsuspecting friends’ noses. The reaction was a unanimous sad face. What was supposed to be turning into a sourdough starter was maintaining a frightening aroma until day ten – when I got the idea.
Sometimes I brood. Having any background with chickens will probably make you laugh at that sentence. But, of course, I mean it in a human sense: pining, wishing, wanting, not having. I want some land, but wantin’ ain’t gettin’. So, I make do in my 900 sq ft home surrounded by about an acre of […]