" There's a point where you have to leave the dough alone. It's silly to anthropomorphize bread, but I love the fact that it needs to sit quietly, to retreat from touch and noise and drama in order to evolve." ( Jody Picoult:The Storyteller)
We have retreated.
No drama. Their story is the drama.
At this point, no touch.
The word " yeast" comes from the Old English, from an Indo -European root meaning " to boil, foam and bubble."We give our Kids space to do just that. They need to bubble a little.
" Oma tells me of the six hundred kinds of bread made in the homeland, white and grey and black in color. Loaves heavy with pumpkin seeds. Pumpernickel. Rye. All with long dense names like " Sonnenblumenkernbrot" and " Roggenmischbrot". Each word is music to her. " It matters, " she tells me. " Whose bread I eat, his song I sing." ( Christa Parrish: Stones for Bread)
It matters indeed. For now we let our rescued children boil and bubble and ferment a little. Because the bread is coming. And it will not be industrial sad bread wrapped in plastic. We will have loaves that sing. And the song is one of promise. The song is one of hope. The song is one of redemption and restoration.
When the song starts, we too will be singing in.
But for now, we leave the dough to rise.