Reading, Writing, and Sourdough

Sourdough rye, baked in a Dutch Oven. Ordinarily, my satisfaction in baking bread is corporeal.  I like the feel of placing my hands in moist dough and sensing it as gentle kneading and stretching bring it together into a shapeable loaf.  The smell of baking bread never fails to make my mouth tingle in anticipation.  And when asked what is my favorite kind of bread, my answer is always, "Fresh."  But every once in a while, I also have to think hard about making bread.  A couple of weeks ago I was making three different kinds of bread with three distinct sourdough starters.  I fed my starters at different times, they bloomed in their jars at divergent speeds, each recipe employed different combinations of flour when it came time to assemble, and each loaf leavened with self-determination.  My ovens were hopping. Another rye with egg wash and caraway seeds. The most challenging loaves were rolls.  Sue was making a new recipe of curried Sloppy Joe and I was