Homesteading is a beautiful journey full of fresh eggs, garden harvests, and animals that make your day brighter. But let’s be honest… it’s also full of fails. Big fails. Small fails. Fails that teach you something. And fails that you just have to laugh about because, well, you’ll cry if you don’t.

And this year’s fail?
Sourdough bread.
Specifically — my complete inability to make it.

My husband absolutely loves sourdough. He can eat it toasted, dipped in soups, smothered in butter, or just torn apart like a medieval feast. So naturally, I thought, “I’m a homesteader. I bake. I grow things. I can absolutely make sourdough.”

Friends… I could not.

The Sourdough Starter That Started Everything — Then Tried to Escape

I began my sourdough adventure with excitement and confidence. I mixed the flour. I added the water.

And for a brief second, I thought: This is going great.

Then, slowly… very slowly… things began to unravel.

Some people nurture beautiful sourdough starters with names like Bertha or Bubbles or Yeast Mode. My starter deserved a name like Chaos. Or What Is That Smell. Or Please Stop Growing.

It bubbled at the wrong times.
It didn’t bubble at the right times.
It slept when it should’ve been active.
It exploded when it should’ve been resting.

At one point, I’m pretty sure it tried to escape the jar entirely. I blinked and it was climbing its way toward freedom like it had places to be.

Attention to Detail? Absolutely Not.

Here’s the thing about sourdough:
It is shockingly needy.

Feed it at the same time.
Use the right flour.
Watch the hydration level.
Check the temperature.
Don’t mix too much.
Don’t mix too little.
Fold it gently.
But not too gently.
Let it rise, but only until it “looks right,” which is vague and unhelpful.

Then repeat. Forever.

I quickly realized something about myself:
I do not have the attention to detail required for this particular homesteading skill.

I was no longer that excited about sourdough.

My chickens don’t care if I’m ten minutes late.
The bees don’t mind if I forget something and come back for it.
The garden forgives me when I plant crooked rows.
But sourdough?
Sourdough demands absolute devotion, and I simply wasn’t up to the task.

The Final Loaf That Broke My Confidence

After days — DAYS — of nurturing this starter, I finally attempted to bake a loaf.

I followed the steps.
I folded the dough.
I shaped it.
I put it in the oven.

And what emerged was…
Well…
Let’s just say it was bread-adjacent.

It was dense enough to use as a doorstop.
It was slightly raw in the middle.
And it made a sound when I set it down that suggested “weapon” more than “artisan loaf.”

My husband, being the supportive human that he is, attempted to eat it. He chewed for a long time. A very long time. I think I was able to finally convince him that we should stick to bakery sourdough.

Failing Is Part of the Homesteading Journey

Here’s the truth:
Homesteading is not about perfection.
It’s not about mastering every skill.
It’s not about making everything from scratch just because you can.

It’s about learning.
It’s about laughing at yourself.
It’s about trying new things and realizing that sometimes, it’s okay if those things aren’t your strong suit.

I might not be a sourdough baker — and that’s fine. I can raise chickens and ducks, grow a garden, tend to bees, and keep our homestead running smoothly. Sourdough can remain my Achilles heel.

Maybe one day I’ll try again.
Maybe I’ll find a new method that makes sense.
Or maybe I’ll just buy the sourdough and stick to making everything else from scratch.

Either way, this fail gave me a good laugh — and a reminder that even on the homestead, not everything needs to be done perfectly.

Sometimes, the journey (and the ridiculous starter crawling out of its jar) is enough.