My Sourdough Journey: Epilogue

Some people say there is no God but I believe that there is.

I didn’t get the full-time role that I’d applied for at Ascension Trust. Instead, I got a better paid, part-time role as the coordinator for one of their affiliate charities: Word For Weapons. Not only was the role more suitable in terms of my career level but it would afford me the privilege of having time each week to work on my personal business and other goals-sourdough included.-while still having a decent salary.

I saw it as a God-given blessing that I had done nothing to deserve, and so I prepared myself to embark on another step of my journey-my sourdough journey-determined to make the best use of this time.

Gone were the sunny scenes of Hay-on-Wye. In place of the wonderful scenes through different bedroom windows where I’d stayed,

Scene through one of my windows in Hay-on-Wye - at the start of the day, all creatures looked to the horizon in anticipation of a blissful summer's day. . .

Scene through one of my windows in Hay-on-Wye – at the start of the day, all creatures looked to the horizon in anticipation of a blissful summer’s day. . .

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My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Nineteen – A New Beginning

After my last shift at the bakery, in mid December, I left with a big box containing a variety of loaves. Gillian gave me a lift to the house where I was staying, and I busied myself with final preparations before my driver arrived  at noon to collect me.

So where was I going? I had decided to go to London. London of all places! The big city that in my estimation was devoid of country greenery and fresh air and the kind of truly organic, just round the corner fare that I had grown accustomed to in Hay-on-Wye. Continue reading

My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Eighteen – Saying Goodbye

As moving to a new place is never easy, so is leaving a place that one has become familiar with. It meant letting go of certain comforts and starting that cycle again of settling in somewhere and establishing a workable routine.

One of my fondest attachments in Hay-on-Wye–well, not exactly in Hay-on-Wye but in Brecon, to be more precise–was my church family at the Brecon Elim Church. Gentle reader, time did not allow me to let you in on the resolution to my initial attempt to attend church in Hay-on-Wye but suffice to say, I settled nicely at Elim and looked forward to going there each Sunday. It was a peaceful haven, especially if I’d had a trying or tiring week. Continue reading

My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Seventeen – Telltale Signs. . .

. . . a beautiful autumn leaf pasted to the window pane! Pretty though it was, it was a sure sign that the approach of winter was imminent.

A beautiful autumn leaf in Hay-on-Wye: the approach of winter was imminent

A beautiful autumn leaf in Hay-on-Wye: the approach of winter was imminent

In my mind, up until the appearance of that leaf, I had been delaying acknowledgment of the inevitable because temperatures were still mild for the time of year. Continue reading

My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Sixteen – Tam and the Turbaned One

Hay-on-Wye reminded me in some ways of Cuba in that they were both curious places that gave one the feeling of having stepped out of one world and into another that was different, quaint, exciting and new in an old fashioned kind of way.

That sense of other worldliness came home to me the strongest when I went for a walk through town one Saturday afternoon and came upon the turbaned one sitting crossed-legged on a quiet street corner. Continue reading

My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Fifteen – Hay-on-Wye’s Best Kept Secret

I was in Hay-on-Wye for at least two months before I discovered the community garden, and I would dare to say that it was one of the town’s best kept secrets.

I actually discovered it the day when I went with Malcolm to do the bread deliveries. I spotted the ‘organic fruit and veg’ sign as the van sailed past.

“Oh, an organic fruit and veg farm!” I said. Continue reading

My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Fourteen – Horsing Around in Hay

One morning as I walked home from my shift at the bakery, I found myself against the tide of hoards of people drifting through the town. They were all headed down an alleyway between two buildings on the sidewalk and towards the racy voice of what could only be an auctioneer. The faint neighing in the background told me it was a horse auction.

I asked one man what it was all about and he said that people from all over the country came to Hay for this event each year. Determined not to miss out on any of the action, I shoved the tiredness to the back of my mind, went back to the house where I was staying-which wasn’t far away-grabbed my camera and returning, I fell in line with the other spectators, horse buyers, whoever, who were wending their way along Hay’s streets to the horse auction. Continue reading

My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Thirteen – Lots to See and Do in Hay-on-Wye

As the summer wore on, there was lots to see and do in Hay-on-Wye.

One Sunday afternoon, I went for a walk up in the region of the Black Mountains, and near to Hay Bluff, with a group of people I’d recently met. It was a beautiful piece of countryside: expanses of fields and hills, subdivided like a quilted blanket

Wales: expanses of fields and hills, subdivided like a quilted blanket

Wales: expanses of fields and hills, subdivided like a quilted blanket

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My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Twelve – Taking Charge of the Soda Breads

Meanwhile, I didn’t make any new recipes at the bakery but I did get a chance to take some responsibility for the shaping of the soda breads. People had been asking for it, so we were making a batch each week. It was a more forgiving dough than some of the others so there wasn’t much damage I could do to it. Continue reading

My Sourdough Journey: Chapter Eleven – A New Recipe and Old Time Favourites

Breakfast was my all time favourite meal of the day and that meant fruit. A big bowl of fruit or a mammoth smoothie. Sometimes I even went to bed with a feeling of I can’t wait to get up in the morning and have breakfast.

I had some of the best fruit breakfasts in Jamaica with tree ripened fruit – some from Spanish Town market, some from our back garden and some as gifts from friends’ and neighbours’ gardens (Jamaicans liked to share that way and were always proud to bestow a gift that they had reaped from their property with their very own hands). Continue reading