I'm a product of the great depression and saw many ways of saving money. Mother Nature supplied most of what we needed on the farm. One winter the sourdough died. Dad took us to see Grandma and get a share of her starter. It was brought home on a hot water bottle and wrapped in a sweater lest it get too cold and die.
That was in 1938 and as far as I know it is still going strong. I'm starting my own sourdough now. I have been retired over 20 years and been baking just as a hobby. Hope the sourdough is as good as mother made.
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Welcome to TFL, Tyro. I too hope your sourdough is as good as the one from your youth. Isn't it interesting how detailed our memories can remain over so many years of life.
Ron
The bread is now in the oven and the smell coming to me now brings back a memory. It's winter, I'm 5 years old, the wood stove has a load of Moms' bread happily baking and filling the house with the scent of well being. ( Even if it is the hight of the great depression.) I can also smell the split pea soup that is simmering on the back of the stove.
I love this post. I was born and raised in a small town where you could leave the windows and doors unlocked it was quiet and safe and very simple. My mother passed away at a very young age (29) I was 7 and some of my fondest memories are of her in the kitchen or her sewing room. She was ill for many years before I was even a thought but here I sit. She believed very much in feeding us kids healthy wholesome foods that mostly were from scratch. I don't think I ate a store bought loaf of bread until she was to ill to do anything. I don't want this to be sad post because it's not. My love for being in the kitchen came from my mother I LOVE to bake. I recall the days of my easy bake oven and the excitement watching my little cakes poof up in front of my eyes and the joy it brought her as she watched my sister and I. As I think back to those times it was simple and unhurried. When I married my husband he brought me to Seattle where everyone is in a hurry and it's hard to find the simple. I decided to try my hand at sourdough as way for me to feel that unhurried life that surrounds my house. It brings me back and soothes me.
Dad would lock the door and then hang the key beside the door just incase someone needed to get in.
Hi Lyn, loved your note and good luck. I was a dry dirt farmer from Saskatchewan. Now live in BC