Why I Decided to Start a Sourdough Micro-Bakery (aka how a jar of flour took over my life)

At some point, my kitchen quietly turned into a bakery.

It didn’t happen all at once. There was no big announcement. No “I’m starting a business!” moment. Just a sourdough starter on the counter that I kept feeding, talking to, and rearranging my schedule around like it was a new family member.

If you know, you know.

What started as “I just want to make better bread for my family” slowly turned into friends asking for loaves… then friends of friends… then people saying things like,

“You should sell this.”

And me laughing like, haha yeah okay—while absolutely thinking about it nonstop.

It Started as Therapy… With Flour

Sourdough became my quiet thing. My slow thing. The thing I did when life felt loud, busy, and never-ending. There was something grounding about working with my hands, waiting on fermentation, and accepting that I couldn’t rush the process—no matter how much I wanted to.

Also, it turns out watching dough rise is weirdly satisfying. Like, good job, little guy. You’re doing great.

Somewhere along the way, I realized I wasn’t just baking bread. I was creating space. Space to slow down. Space to be creative. Space to feel like me again.

And that’s when the idea crept in:

What if this could be more than just a hobby?

Why a Micro-Bakery (and Not a Huge Fancy Thing)

I didn’t want a storefront. I didn’t want massive production. I didn’t want to turn something I loved into something that stressed me out.

I wanted small. Intentional. Real.

A micro-bakery felt right. Baking in small batches. Knowing exactly who my bread is going to. Keeping it personal. Keeping it human. Keeping it something I can do alongside my family, not instead of them.

Also, I really love the idea of an honor-system farmstand. There’s something kind of rebellious and wholesome about trusting people to grab a loaf and leave cash like, we’re all good humans here.

The Steps I’ve Taken So Far (No, Not Perfectly)

Here’s what this journey has looked like so far—messy, learning-as-I-go version included:

1. Baking… a lot.

Testing recipes. Tweaking hydration. Learning what works, what doesn’t, and what absolutely should not be repeated.

2. Getting serious about gluten-free.

Gluten-free sourdough deserves just as much care and intention. It’s not an afterthought here. Separate processes, thoughtful ingredients, and a lot of respect for the people who need it.

3. Learning the business side (slowly, with snacks).

Cottage food laws. Pricing. Packaging. Systems. All the things that aren’t as romantic as baking—but are necessary if you want to do this for real.

4. Letting it grow naturally.

I’m not rushing. I’m building this the same way I build my bread—slow, steady, and with room to breathe.

What This Is Really About

This micro-bakery isn’t just about sourdough.

It’s about choosing a slower pace in a world that glorifies burnout.

It’s about creating something with my hands and sharing it with my community.

It’s about trusting the process—even when it’s uncomfortable.

And yes… it’s also about bread. Really good bread.

This is just the beginning. And I’m letting it rise exactly how it’s meant to.

If you’re here reading this, thanks for being part of it already. 🤍