Sourdough Dharma Practice

by Nancy Wright, Board Chair

The jar of gooey flour and water sat on my counter with an impish grin inked on the side in black marker. “Sammy,” I pleaded, “what do you need? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Too cold? Would you enjoy a different type of flour?” Sammy the Sourdough Starter just smiled. Despite its jaunty demeanor, Sammy’s effectiveness as a starter was very questionable. The last effort at using Sammy to make bread resulted in a loaf so dense it could be used as a weapon. But was Sammy to blame? Intensive internet research, conflicting instructions from two sourdough cookbooks, and impassioned conversations at grocery checkout lines revealed almost unlimited reasons for flops: over and under proofing, using a starter too soon or too late, over and under kneading, kitchen too hot or too cold. Sourdough is an enigma.

My husband and I embarked on our sourdough journey cheerfully collecting too many supplies and looking forward to hearty loaves of healthy bread. Over the next six months, sourdough would test my patience and my resolve again and again. One disappointing loaf followed another, punctuated by anxious research and endless conversations about causation. As I mixed yet another batch of dough, my husband helpfully remarked, “I hope it turns out!” I broke under the weight of expectations. “It’s not about that,” I snapped. “We can only hope that we learn something from the process.” Wait, what did I just say? Breaking through my grumpy mood, I realized that this was, in fact, a pearl of wisdom. Maybe I could let go of the outcome and be curious about the living organisms that were bubbling up in Sammy.

Here’s what I have learned (so far) from sourdough:

1. Cultivate Not-Knowing. When Roshi Bernie Glassman founded the Zen Peacemakers, he articulated Three Tenets. The first is Not-Knowing or “don’t know mind.” This isn’t an invitation to stupidity, but a recognition that when we think something can be “known” through and through, we shut down our curiosity and openness to new insight.

Sourdough made it easier to give up on “knowing” because even the so-called experts often disagreed. Still, it took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize that I could not fix my sourdough by research and force of will. Once I took my blinders off, I became more attentive to texture, smell, temperature, and changes over time. The tension in my shoulders eased and was replaced by a feeling of contentment as I fed Sammy, measured flour, stretched and folded the dough.

2. Slow down. Buddhism is brimming with rituals and teachings designed to slow us down so that we can really be present. Sitting meditation or zazen starts with a physical deceleration (“just sit!”) so that we can have some hope of recognizing our lightning quick reactivity. I’ve come to appreciate this on the cushion, but I will admit that it is not often that I am able to bring that level of presence to my non-cushion life.

Enter sourdough. In general, it takes days to make a single loaf of bread. The wild yeast in the starter cannot be manipulated and quickened like processed yeast in packets. My efforts to speed things along always backfired. And then there’s the “feeding” of the starter. While it is in the process of becoming active, it must be “fed” once (sometimes twice) a day. Over time, I looked forward to this quiet time in the morning, stirring and measuring, tending to the tiny bacteria and yeast cells, drawing another face on the jar to gauge the rise.

Little by little, I began to learn the joy of paying attention to the small things, tending to the task before me.

3. Share the joy. I am known to overshare, particularly if there’s potential for a good story. When I eagerly began the sourdough journey, my adult children were assaulted with a running account of Sammy’s activities, or lack thereof. My son eventually told me that he was starting to think of Sammy as a new sibling, but he would be deeply concerned if he discovered that I added Sammy to my will. This is not the type of sharing that I needed to learn.

In the Dhammapada, the Buddha is quoted as saying, “We are shaped by our thoughts; we become what we think. When the mind is pure, joy follows like a shadow that never leaves.” By trading a mind focused on outcome for a mind focused on the life in front of me, joy followed.

Even better, I was not spreading my irritation and “fix it” mentality to the poor beings around me. For a small portion of the day, the world was made a little less sad, annoyed, or judged when I turned my attention to thoughts of tending.

And all this patience and careful attending has, in fact, resulted in actual loaves of warm, crunchy, delicious sourdough bread. The joy just keeps spreading.

Nancy lives in Gainesville, Florida with her husband, Jim, and senior dog, Citta. She credits her Southern Dharma retreats as preventing her from burning out in her work as an attorney helping people with disabilities receive Medicaid services so that they can live at home. In March of 2023, Nancy received lay ordination (jukai) in the Soto Zen tradition through Upaya Zen Center. As Chair, she hopes to not get in the way of the living practice of the Dharma both on the mountain and off.