  I don't even eat meat! But when I was young, every one of our family's numerous road trips seemed to end with my mom saying that. Just a few hours ago, we arrived home from a long weekend of camping at Enchanted Rock. We were blessed by the weather gods with some very cloudy, much cooler days, but today wasn't one of them.
The heat index was over 100! So we arrived exhausted and sweaty, ready to be home. Upon our arrival, John and I quickly swept the floor for new hatchling fleas, and then got to the business of being home again--opening mail, checking email, unpacking, feeding the kids so we can send them to bed. For me, this includes a funny, new ritual: feeding my starter. Since reading a urlLink Dr. Weil book last year that included love among healthy and yummy food ingredients (seriously, food made in love seems to be better for you and even taste better), I work hard on loving food I make and thinking of how healthy it will make my family as I prepare it.
Showered, fed, with one out of two in bed, I found myself gently perking my starter up, feeding it and giving it some warm spring water, stirring it with a chop stick because you don't want to use metal and a spoon is too big and clunky. I was a little worried about it because the fridge was too cold and it got a little icy. But just now I checked in on it and it was bubbly and yeasty, happily making its hooch!
It looked so happy to have us home! I'm not used to cooking or making things other than urlLink Annie's Mac or lox bagels. I always thought it would be too draining. But this bread project is really rewarding. My starter gives more to me than I give to it. I know, it's strange to write about, too. Maybe I'm just in some honeymoon period for breadmaking. 
