What a slow, chilly fall taught me – again

Sourdough has this way of teaching you something new every single season.
I haven’t been doing sourdough for decades — only about three years — but I bake a lot. Some weeks it’s 80–100 loaves, and when you bake that often, the dough becomes its own language. You can read its mood in seconds. You can feel when something is off before you even see it.

This fall, something was off.

Our home is mostly wood-fire heated, which means the kitchen temperature rises and falls with the weather, no matter how much I try to outsmart it. In summer everything is lively. In fall, the starter grows quieter, slower, a little more hesitant.

I first noticed it in the dough.
My loaves were still beautiful, but just slightly smaller.
Slightly slower to rise.
Just a little different.

Then my starter — usually a confident tripler — began only doubling.
Then barely doubling.
And then came the morning it didn’t double overnight at all.

That was the moment I knew it wasn’t the dough. It was the starter.

When a Starter Looks Fine… but Isn’t Fine

It’s the strangest thing: a starter can bubble, smell good, and rise somewhat, but still be completely out of balance.

Mine was still bubbly.
Still fragrant.
Still “alive.”

But it wasn’t strong anymore.
And dough has no way to hide that.

Your dough can look alive, smell alive, and rise a little — and still not be truly strong. A starter can hide its tiredness until the bread tells the truth.

The Quiet Work of Resetting a Starter (My Real Process)

This is the part I do like being a bit step-by-step about, because this is exactly what worked:

1. I took only a small amount of my current starter

Just the strongest teaspoon or two from the centre — the part that feels freshest and most active. Think of it as choosing the best seedlings to replant.

2. I put it into a clean jar

Not required every day, but during a reset? It helps so much. A fresh jar feels like a little reset button for the culture.

3. I gave it a big feed

Not measured scientifically, just enough to make it noticeably thicker than usual while still smooth. Ratios like:

• 1:3:2
• 1:5:5
• and once even 1:10:10 when I wanted a deep refresh

The goal is simply: more flour than the starter is used to.

4. I fed it three times a day

Morning, midday, evening.

Each time, I watched its behaviour instead of the clock.

After two days of this, it was back to tripling within 6–8 hours and holding its peak for several hours after. That “holding the peak” part is what tells me my starter is not just active, but strong and balanced.

5. I added fresh-milled rye during a few feeds

Rye is like vitamins for a starter. Mine responds incredibly well to even a small amount. A spoonful of fresh-milled rye here and there gave it exactly the boost it needed.

By the end of 48 hours, the change was obvious:
It was strong, domed, and sweet-smelling again.
And my loaves went right back to their full size and lift.

Watching the starter’s behaviour taught me more than any clock or ratio ever could. Strength isn’t about speed — it’s about steadiness.

The Secret I Learned Slowly: Thicker Is Better

So many sourdough guides insist on 1:1:1 feedings — equal water and flour — as if that’s the perfect formula.

But here’s something I learned only through actually doing sourdough week after week:

If you consistently feed 1:1:1, your starter will slowly get runnier unless you intentionally thicken it.

And runny starters behave very differently:

• They ferment too fast
• They acidify too quickly
• They peak early
• They collapse soon after
• They lose strength instead of building it

My starter is always happiest when it’s slightly thicker — smooth, easy to mix, but undeniably thick.

The benefit?
It rises steadily and strongly, and then it stays at its peak for hours.
That grace window is a game changer, especially in a house with fluctuating temperatures.

And if it ever does drift too thin, I don’t do anything dramatic — I just feed it more flour and a splash of water at the next feeding. Not a rule. Just a response.

When my starter is slightly thicker, it becomes confident and patient — it rises beautifully, and then it waits for me. There’s so much grace in that.

A Real-Talk Note on Over-Fermentation (and Why “Pancake Dough” Isn’t What You Think)

People get so nervous about over-fermenting dough.
And yes, it can happen — but here’s the real truth from someone making a hundred loaves a week:

Strong dough made with a strong, balanced starter does not over-ferment quickly.

When your starter is healthy and not overly acidic:

• Your dough has hours of grace
• It won’t turn into a pancake if you’re 30–60 minutes behind
• It won’t collapse the moment it reaches its height
• Even after rising, it will hold itself
• And if you put it in the fridge, it buys you even more time

Honestly? The only times I’ve actually over-fermented dough are:

• when I accidentally fell asleep (the nap-ferment 😅)
• when the bakery was unusually warm and everything moved too fast
• or when I physically couldn’t get all my loaves into the oven quickly enough

That’s it.

So when someone’s dough spreads flat or turns slack and “pancake-like,” most guides say “over-proofed.”
But in my experience, nine times out of ten:

It’s a weak, acidic starter — not a timing issue.

Waking Up a Starter After the Fridge (My Rhythm)

When my starter has been in the fridge, my process is gentle:

• Night 1: a big feed, thicker than usual
• Morning 2: a moderate feed
• Evening 2: build the levain I’ll need for baking

For my bakery batches, that means building around 1,300 g of bubbly, active levain the night before.

No strict rules — just paying attention.

Small Troubles, Big Clues: A Softer Troubleshooting Guide

Loaves going flat?
Usually not true over-ferment. It’s often a tired, acidic starter.

Starter taking forever to rise?
It’s hungry or cold-stressed. Give it more food and warmth.

Starter collapsing too fast?
Too runny. Thicken the next feed.

Sharp smell?
Acid running the show. Add flour, add rye, give a big refresh.

Unpredictable dough?
Your house is changing temperatures. Totally normal. Adjust feeds, not panic.

The Heart of It All

Your starter is alive.
It responds to weather, rhythm, chaos, heat, softness, and rest.

When it’s strong, your bread becomes forgiving.
When it’s balanced, your schedule becomes wider.
When it’s cared for, your dough shows it.

If your loaves ever go flat, slow, dense, sharp, or confusing, the starter is always the first place to look.

Fix that — and everything else settles down.

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