My Sourdough Journey
I always find myself thinking, what if.
What if I hadn’t become obsessed with my dad’s Pentax K1000 when I found it in the garage?
What if I never took that quiet, stoic photo of my brother in 2002?
So many small moments that could have gone differently.
Sometimes life feels like one big guessing game—but other times, you just have to close your eyes and let the universe take over.
I often think that if I hadn’t found photography, I would have found my way into a kitchen somewhere—covered in flour, learning the art of pastry and the rhythm of creating something by hand.
Which brings me to sourdough.
Like many people, I was first introduced to a sourdough starter in 2020. My stepsister handed me one and said,
“It’s alive—you have to feed it.”
I remember thinking… I’m sorry, what?
I did a little research and found it interesting—but 2020 was not my sourdough era. Not even close. I tucked that starter into the back of my fridge, where it sat untouched for months before I eventually threw it away.
Fast forward to 2025—and this time, I was ready.
A friend gifted me another starter, and I was all in.
Starter, water, flour, salt—mix.
Wait…
wait…
wait…
Bake.
And then—bread.
I was hooked.
Of course, life got busy (as it always does), and sourdough is not something you can ignore. If you’re not actively baking, you need to care for it—feed it, store it properly, stay consistent.
I did none of those things.
I left it on the counter, forgot about it, and eventually… mold.
And that was that.
But something about it stayed with me.
So in November of 2025, I decided to start from scratch—literally. I made my own starter, and let me tell you… it was a process. It took two full months to get it active and bubbling.
And now?
Celeste the Sourdough (yes, I named her) is thriving.
She’s helped me make loaves of bread, crackers, cookies, and just today—my first focaccia.
In many ways, sourdough and baking feel like they could have been a huge part of my life in a different timeline. Give me a small cottagecore kitchen, and I’d be the happiest witch—baking, creating, and sharing that joy with others. A slower, quieter kind of creativity compared to photographing a wedding day.
Photography and sourdough couldn’t be more different—and yet, they’re not.
One lasts for generations.
The other disappears within days.
But both start the same way: with intention, patience, and a little bit of trust in the process.
And somehow, with just water, flour, and salt, you can create something that feels like a touch of magic.