On important dog business...

...and in a rush to check out some lurking ducks. 

Extra 1 ... or maybe not.
Extra 2 ... yes! They're there, just round the corner, they're there!
Then they flew away. Dang. 

It was a sourdough morning: mixing and proving two loaves. I do love the slow nature of making wild yeast bread. The length of time it takes to develop from flour, water - or whey - and a bit of salt, into a real loaf adds to the extraordinary enjoyment every mouthful provides me. 

I had some commercial yeasted toast at a friend's house last week and I found myself wanting to spit it out. It was claggy, insubstantial and tasted weird. 

Obviously good manners meant that I ate it, probably with a smile on my face. But I'll remember to politely refuse bread or toast that isn't sourdough in future.

And by that I mean proper slow sourdough, unlike that which is sold in our local supermarkets which has 'sourdough culture' listed as an ingredient, as well as commercial yeast. WTF? 

The afternoon will be spent carefully cutting down some more willow tree and carefully shovelling more chook poo. Then I must sort out an order for cheese cultures: I seem to have run out of several different ones at the same time. 

Bean is recovering from the duck excitement, curled in a tight ball on Pink. Life's exhausting.