A Memorial to Franklin: My First Sourdough Starter

November 2024 — December 17, 2025

I had mentioned to a few new friends that I wanted to begin baking sourdough. One of those friends brought me a starter in the central room separating the academic and dorm wings. The first name that popped into my head was Franklin. Thus, he was born. Although discarded, Franklin developed into my stunning, sour boy. 

The first three-quarters of his life were spent sealed. I fed him and covered him. I poured him into the bowl, fed the remainder, and covered him. Patience was Franklin’s virtue. Through the seasons, the temperatures, and the humidities, he persevered. 

Franklin was selfless. He gave of himself to every loaf of bread I made. All he needed was flour and water. I learned he loved whole wheat. He was forgiving. Many initial loaves were trash-worthy. Yet, Franklin continued to offer more of himself until I figured it out. My first edible loaf was a testament to Franklin’s endurance.

It wasn’t until I began using cheesecloth that he seemed to perk up more with the fresh air.  Unfortunately, it was this material that allowed fruit flies to attack Franklin and end his life. When I arrived home the evening of the 17th, Franklin wasn’t alone. A dozen fruit flies zipped out, escaping justice, when I uncovered Franklin. I don’t know where they came from, but I regret the cheesecloth. In the words of Martin Sheen during his role as General Robert E. Lee in Gettysburg, “it is all my fault.” I’m sorry I let you die like that.

Although he will not rise again, Franklin lives on in spirit. My new starter, Fiji, is named in honor of her predecessor. I hope Fiji will continue Franklin’s legacy of sourness. Perhaps without the initial failures. If I learned any lesson, it’s to cover my sourdough.

Consider reading a similar post: “Ode to Hostels“