(Post#31) Dough, Docks, and an awkward position: A Day in the Wilderness with Cousin Chuck
I awoke the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and a view from my bedroom window of lush, green trees. As I walked into the kitchen, there was Chuck, hovering over the sink like a mad scientist with a jar of mysterious white paste in his hand. He turned, grinning, and said, "Good morning, cuz! Sleep well? You ready for a great experience?"
In his hand was the jar, which I soon learned contained sourdough starter—a little living jar of flour and water that somehow creates bread from its good bacteria and bubbles. "You see this?" he said, holding it up like it was the holy grail. "This is the starter. It’s alive. You feed it like you would a pet, and if you're lucky, it doesn't turn into a science experiment gone wrong."
He explained how the starter had expanded by 50% since the last feeding, demonstrating by pouring a little bit into water. If it floats, it’s ready to make bread. Who knew I’d be testing floury blobs for buoyancy first thing in the morning?
Chuck, of course, took this process very seriously. He treated the next process of mixing the readied starter with flour, water and salt and mixing it thoroughly; it was like his child. "Lookin’ good, baby," he whispered to it, and I swear, I saw him give it a little pat. "There you go, you beautiful thing." I was just excited to see if it would actually turn into something edible for dinner. The concept of flour, water, salt, and time turning into a warm loaf of bread was starting to seem like magic.
While the dough was rising, we took our coffee and breakfast down to the dock. It was one of those perfect sunny days where the lake looked like glass. We sat in comfortable silence, taking in the peaceful view, but I could feel it coming—the question I knew Chuck was about to ask. And there it was. "Hey, since the water’s like glass, why don’t we go canoeing today?"
He had me there. "Like glass" had been my very words as the only condition under which I’d get into a canoe. So, of course, I agreed, albeit nervously.
After breakfast, we kept checking on the dough, which seemed to be doing its thing, while Chuck showed me how to "maneuver" it. Maneuver is probably too fancy a word for what was happening, but hey, I was in good hands.
Then came the canoe.
Chuck set the canoe in the water and tied one end up to the dock. Meanwhile, I stood there looking down into it, seeing the paddles, life jackets and what seemed like a lot of room for us to sit. Basically, psyching myself up for this grand adventure. Chuck was busy fiddling with a little motor he’d rigged up for the canoe and was standing at the end of the dock. With him momentarily distracted, I figured this was my moment. I’d show him how fearless I was.
Big mistake.
I confidently placed my left foot in the canoe, fully intending to follow with my right... but physics had other plans. The canoe started sliding away from the dock, leaving me in the world's most awkward split. One foot in the boat, one on the dock, and me hovering somewhere in between. I yelled, "Chuck!" like my life depended on it.
He turned, eyes wide, then quickly jogged over, trying not to laugh. "Just don’t move!" he said, as though I had a choice. He carefully pulled the canoe back to the dock while I desperately clung to what remained of my dignity. Once I was safely back on solid ground, he shook his head, chuckling, "I can’t leave you alone for one minute."
We both burst out laughing. I was sure my canoeing privileges were revoked at that point, but Chuck, ever the patient giant, said, "Come on, let’s try again. We’ll paddle over to that little island, dock the canoe, and maybe do some hiking."
What can I say? The man’s got the patience of a saint. And the bread kept rising. Seems like this day was going to be great.
Chuck's Creations
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