I think that my reading inclinations can be a little excessive. After all, uncontrollably reading Jane Eyre in under 24 hours can be a little hazardous to one’s health.
You book-lovers out there know what I mean, right? You vaguely hope that no one will notice your imprudent weakness while uncomfortably wondering if perhaps you should be in some sort of intervention program.
So anyhow, our public library is my happy place. I like wandering and wondering through it, ferreting out books and gobbling up little bits of them as I go.
Since I frequent our library and have volunteered there in the past (which homeschooler hasn’t, after all), I am acquainted with our librarians. But I was surprised on one fateful November day when the branch manager asked me if I was interested in teaching an hour of a free class that they hold on Tuesdays. She knew that our family enjoys homesteading skills. Was there anything that I’d be interested in teaching?
“I can bake sourdough bread,” I offered.
And before I knew it, the date was settled and I was wondering what I had signed up for.
Do I even know how to make sourdough bread?
Yes, silly. You’ve made it since you were a kid.
But I definitely won’t be able to explain how to make it! It’s too broad a subject!
Then just share what you do! It won’t be technical: It will be approachable.
I kind of felt a weight in my belly as the day approached. I began realizing that I didn’t exactly have a recipe. It was all kind of jumbled in my mind, and I always took care of the starter and made the bread in a very un-explainable way.
Toss in a couple cups of flour – add the “right” amount of water, which of course I already warmed up – wait, we’re out of wheat – that’s ok, we have some white – some salt now – oh, it needs a little more water – here’s some whole wheat in the freezer – better pull out some extra for starter before I add that – oh, darn, the salt’s already in – oh, well, I have another jar — now a little more water again – now put it to rise, after I forget to knead it… [Insert lengthy amount of time in which the pigs get out. Fortunately, I coral the pigs exactly when the bread should go in]. Why is the oven smoking? – Ok, I think I’ll cover it this time – Oops, starter should be in the fridge now – what’s burning?
And suddenly I pull an Amelia Bedelia, whisk the pan out of the oven and my loaf is “just right”. Unless it’s a complete flat, doughy, pale failure.
So I had to re-formulate a recipe from this madness!
Eventually I got it figured out. And created some sensible, thorough, understandable notes. And wrote out a flyer. And made a list of the items I needed to take. They were all perched on the couch long before it was time to leave. But that night, when the people began filtering in, I started sweating.
Have you ever poured yourself a mug of hot tea and then wrapped your hands around it? Slowly the heat starts to permeate the mug, and your hands get more and more uncomfortable until it’s unbearable. That’s how I felt. I think that the unbearable feeling came over me about the time the baker walked in. He had curly black hair, a New York accent, and a white, collared chef’s shirt. More and more people kept coming in (it turned out to be one of our library’s biggest adult classes yet).
Then when the class started, I forgot how to speak. I have never felt so helpless. I would have given anything to be safe at home with my dear Miss Eyre, who would never look at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak.
How the first five minutes blundered by I have no idea. It will suffice to say that the first part of the class was a little disjointed. After messing up the recipe (twice) and inadequately answering several questions, I finally started to cool down and by the end of the class I think that most of the people attending would at least understand that sourdough requires a starter.
I was grateful that pretty much everyone came by and told me thank you, and that they enjoyed the class. Maybe the people in this community have low standards for teachers, or else they are just really, really polite. I suspect the latter.
Here’s what I’d be sure to do next time:
1. Have everyone introduce themselves. I think that this would at least give me some time to swallow before I start.
2. Have the bread-tasting first. Eating relaxes people, and tasting the end-goal would be a good thing to do first.
3. Open the floor up for questions after each section of the class. I didn’t realize how many little things I could forget! The evening went better when I encouraged questions and discussion.
4. Make sure everyone has a chance to physically feel the consistency at nearly every step. This is really important for bread-making and I should have made it a priority.
5. Don’t be afraid of silence. I highly doubt people would want to hear me chatter for an hour.
6. Don’t be afraid of not “knowing it all”. Several people told me that I made sourdough very approachable. That’s probably just a nice way of saying that I didn’t really look like I knew what I was doing, but I do think that there is benefit to teaching humbly and honestly. Everyone is learning.
7. Relax. Ok, who am I kidding. I won’t be.
So the other day when I was wandering again through the library, guess what the librarian told me?
“Your class went over really well, I wouldn’t be surprised if the other branches will ask you to teach at there. Would that be alright?”
!?!?!
Update: About a year after I taught this class, a man walked up to me at the market. “I think I know you… you taught that bread class at the library!” he said. (My heart sank, for I had wished everyone would forget that embarrassing class.) “You know, that was so inspirational! I took that starter you gave me and make all my own bread now. I’ve never bought a loaf of bread since!”
Wow. Thank you, sir. I have finally somewhat regained my self-respect.