hard tack. of sorts.

living alone is a new kind of scarf to swathe my throat it. in some ways the freedoms are chrysallate; being coocooned in any quality of silence or din i cultivate, sleeping when my limbs are heavy, waking only when dogs stir or doves insist and emerging without the weight of anyone's daily plans or intentions. the cramped parts, though, are very cramped.

it is stifling to inspect a homely and spare refrigerator, to eye a jar of raw milk that isn't getting any emptier no matter how many slugs i gamely take, or slinking away from a compost pail that's somehow immediately full and sending up wavering constellations of fruit flies. when you learn to count on the appetite for space and substance of more than your own you immediately lose track of how much you take up. is it possible i've eaten only three eggs in the last week but have gone through, literally, four sticks of butter? apparently i've used less than a fourth of a roll of toilet paper? made only four pots of coffee? additionally, the new nest is paned with mirrors on all the closet doors and i can't help but see myself float through the small rooms looking everywhere for a purpose with which it populate my days.

my knees are  narrow, my ribs show paley beneath my collarbones, my jawbones shave off pares of quiet as i dry dishes. it seems, without some sort of supervision, i am becoming small, crackly and bouyant. it is good thing for so many dog bowls and empty marrow bones to moor me. but at any rate, it seems imperative that i anchor myself in the human world by amassing sustenance.

and so! the first Bread Day in the new nest came and i must say, eating a half loaf in under an hour will certainly make for a soporific kind of couch-based solidity.

an oaty sponge; studded with goji berry, sour cherry, hemp seeds, molasses

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kneaded smooth after a 30 minute autolyse, kissed and ready for the first proof

(**an esteemed associate of mine taught me that it is imperative the dough is smooched before it is set to pursue its puffy destiny. i think, probably, any bread success i have is due to her wisdom. unfortunately, my contribution in the form of introducing her to buckwheat was not as well-received.**)

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luxury filling: softened butter, brown sugar, himalayan salt, sprouted sunflower seeds.

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rolled, shaped, nestled in a little collar of crackly parchment for its last rise...

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...baked off and now the worst part: letting the loaf (resounding like a timpany) rest for two hours to set the crumb and develop a fragrant yeasty flavor...

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et voila!

that is Survival Bread. and i think it really did wonders. such as sparking a plan to go out and sleep in the wild, necessitating a visual list of course

the tentative plan, barring any other unforeseen dog-sitting, reminder of desperate errands, or spontaneous sloth will i think look like this
 

 

and if i'm lucky, with enough survival bread and almond butter to way me and my pockets down, i won't be blown from the snowy saddle.