For weeks now, I’ve been hankering after a hike. There’s nothing like a lengthy, sweaty walk in the woods to break my routine and get me out of my head. (Plus, my older daughter’s been sending photos of all her incredible hikes in Ireland and I was beginning to feel an unhealthy amount of jealousy.) But taking off for a whole day is complicated, what with work and cheesemaking and such, and weekends are precious for around-the-house stuff and social events, and so it went: week after hikeless week grinding by. 

And then on Sunday, my husband said, “Want to go hiking tomorrow?” A Monday hike? That had never occurred to me!

I requested a 7-9 mile hike and my husband found one about an hour and a half away. My first thought was, So far? Is it worth it? Can we justify the drive? But then I was like, Be cool, Jennifer. People drive places all the time. Take the whole freaking day. WHO CARES.

On the drive there, we passed swaths of blackened forests from this spring’s fires. The scorched trees, the bare forest floor — it was a little eerie. And then as we got closer to our destination, we noticed a whole mountain ridge that were entirely black, and we started giggling. What were the odds we’d picked a hike in a burnt forest? Oh well, I said. At least it’ll be a new experience. 

Then we arrived and the woods, our woods for the day, were not burned.

The woods was bursting with new green, flowers, birdsong, and merry breezes. The sky was blue, the day warm, and we only saw three other humans the entire time. There weren’t any views but we had running water for about half of the hike, and who needs views when you have a lush forest to occupy the senses? 

We did the steep part of the hike first: about a mile, maybe more, of slowly going down the devil’s stairs and crisscrossing the stream about a dozen times. 

drying off after fording

During the more intense parts, my brain played what-if scenarios on a loop: 

• What if I step wrong on a rock and tear my Achilles tendon? Take Ibuprofen immediately, that’s the first thing. And then my husband would probably have to go back to make calls and get help. Would he leave a sign attached to me in case I passed out from pain? He better, ’cause that way anyone who happened upon my body would know I was still alive and that help was on the way. 
• Or what if I slip and my head snaps back and I crack my head on a rock? That’d be bad.
• Oh! What if I get bitten by a snake? Sucking out the venom isn’t proper procedure anymore. We didn’t have any extra material for a tourniquet, so we’d have to resort to a t-shirt. And without a t-shirt, there’d be sunburn to contend with…

These are the thoughts that occupy my mind when I hike. Now you know. 

The rest of the hike was easier, though there were some steep ascents and descents, and lots of slow burns in either direction. 

We came upon a family cemetery.

When the Shenandoah Skyline Drive was built, mountain folk were forced out, their homes burned, so “finding” the cemetery in the middle of “nowhere” felt sacred. There was a plaque with a poem by Wayne Baldwin. The last line read: The blue of the mountains is not due to the atmosphere, It’s because there’s a sadness which lingers here.

For much of the hike I thought about those people, and the people before them, too. What had life been like back then? How in the world did they live? 

The bugs were bad so we ate our sandwiches while walking, and when we found ourselves once again walking alongside a stream, I spotted a nice pool of water and dared my husband to strip and dip. 

Hello, Garden of Eden.

We even had apples.

No snakes, though, thank goodness. 

Three-quarters of the way through, I was whupped. My feet hurt, our water was running out, and I was sweaty and tired, but I only walked faster. All I could think about was a shower, enormous jars of cool water, and my whole body stretching out on the couch in a giant exhale.

Five hours after we started, we arrived back at the trailhead.

We yanked off our hiking shoes, peeled off our socks, and pulled out the cheesecake brownies and lukewarm iced coffees. And then we drove home, all the while luxuriating in the AC and the simple act of sitting. The end.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (5.1.23), the quotidian (5.2.22), a few good things, an under-the-stairs office nook, PUERTO RICO, coffee crumb cake.

I grew up believing that if something was wholegrain then it had to be WHOLE wholegrain in order to count.

However, now I’m a grown-ass woman and I’ve decided that if I think a hint of whole grain counts as whole wholegrain, then it does. The point of whole grains is to add texture and flavor, not kill your soul (and appetite) with sanctimonious leaden bricks.

Maybe this means I’m a baking rebel?

Or just white-flour shallow?

Smart?

coarse whole wheat that my mom got me from the bulk food store

HAPPY???

Who knows. In any case, this multigrain sourdough is mostly white flour BUT IT’S SOURDOUGH which is basically white flour turned holy (whole-y), and then there’s a miniscule amount of coarse whole wheat flour for texture, looks, and kicks, and a generous blob of soaker cereal mix which is what turns the bread all nubbly virtuous. 

I gave my mom a couple loaves of this bread (bartered it, actually, since we’re forever swapping services, like sewing for haircuts, life-coaching for bread, etc, etc.) and she texted, “These are $20 loaves. Seriously.” She’s not wrong.

hint: parchment lasts for two bakes

When I make bread, I do it for several days running. Once the starter has fully revived (which usually takes a day of feedings), then each morning I mix up a fresh batch of bread and bake off the loaves from the preceding day. Bake days, we eat lots of fresh bread, and I often pass on a loaf to anyone who I owe a favor. And then, bellies and freezer stuffed, I call it quits . . . for a couple weeks. 

I like to shake things up on occasion: a batch of regular bread followed by a batch of herby feta, chocolate cherry, potato, etc. But this multigrain version has shot to the top of the charts. It’s delish: chewy, nutty, billowy, tender.

It’s wonderful eaten fresh with generous swaths of summer-yellow butter.

It makes excellent toast, too.

Multigrain Sourdough
This recipe is based on my standard batch of sourdough, but with add-ins. 

I got my whole-grain cereal mix from a local bulk food store (or my mom got it for me, rather). The bag says it contains red and white hard wheat, oats, rye, triticale, soft white wheat, barley, durham wheat, flax. Use whatever mix you can find, or make your own blend. 

If you don’t already have a sourdough starter, check with your local bakery. Any bakery worth its salt will give you some of their discard.

12 ounces sourdough starter
2 pounds 2 ounces bread flour (2-3 ounces of which are coarsely-ground whole wheat)
1 pound 2 ounces cool water
5 teaspoons salt
1 cup cereal blend mixed with 1 cup hot tap water.

Day 1: Evening Prep
Stir together the 1 cup of cereal and 1 cup of hot water. Cover and let sit at room temperature overnight. (Or if you do things last minute, the morning of you can just add boiling water and let it soak for an hour or so. Or if you’re really impatient, just cook the damn stuff already.)

Day 2: Make
Put the starter, flours, and water in the bowl of your kitchen aid mixer, and in that order, too. Mix on low speed for 4 minutes. Let rest for 20. Add the salt and about half of the cereal mix (the other half, save for the next day’s bake, or freeze for later). There will be excess water in the mix — add some of it, or toss it. It’ll be fine either way, but a wetter dough isn’t a bad thing, and this dough is pretty stiff and can handle some added moisture. Mix on low for another 4 minutes. 

Dump the dough into a bowl. Do a few stretch and folds every 30 minutes for the first couple hours, then let the dough rise for 6-8 hours. 

Cut the dough in half and shape into loaves. Put the loaves into pans, cover with plastic, and let rest overnight. I proof my loaves at 55 degrees in one of the cheese caves which works incredibly well; if proofing in a fridge, let the dough rise in the pans for an hour or so prior to refrigerating. 

Day 3: Bake Day
Slash the loaves — go deep! — and bake at 400 degrees for about 40 minutes, rotating part way though.

This same time, years previous: the coronavirus diaries: week seven, that fuzzy space, the quotidian (4.24.17), taking off, Sally Fallon’s pancakes, out and about, cauliflower potato soup.

Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
everyday; ordinary; commonplace

Cherry cheesecake brownies.

Don’t hold back.

Soon ready for bottling: spiced cranberry.

Pre-shake.

Sunday morning bake.

She brought me a treat!

Eclipse.

Solo siding.

Spring in a cup.

Friends on a log.

Play hard.

Then crash.

This same time, years previous: creamy herbed yogurt cheese, what we ate, making pie: I have a system, the best fix, what it’s like to write full time: an experiment, creamed honey, out of character, ailments, therapy.