Applying Sourdough Inquiry to my Life!

Everyday Life

Sourdough baking has become more than something I do in my free time in my kitchen. This process has given me insight and tools, which I can apply to my everyday life.

Baking has allowed me to ask more questions, like:

• What happens if I try this?
• Why didn’t that work?
• What can I learn from this outcome?

These questions follow me into the classroom, into the restaurant as a server, into the gym, and into everyday life.

Whether I’m teaching a lesson, serving a table, or pulling a loaf from the oven, the goal isn’t perfection; it’s progress, patience, and trying my best. Even when things don’t rise the way I hoped, i’m still learning, still growing, and still becoming better because of it.

In fitness, consistency is everything, but so is listening to your body. Some days you hit a personal best; other days, you scale back. I have recently begun training for the Oak Bay Half-Marathon. When running, my pace staggers; some days, I hit 6:20/km, whereas the following day, I could be worn out and stuck at 7:10. On the hard days, I listen to my body and rest. I recognize that I cannot be perfect, and that training to run far and fast is not linear. I expected that within a month of training, I could get down to even 5:50/km or lower; however, this time will not be consistent- and that’s okay!

Sourdough lives in that same balance. You need discipline to feed your starter, to follow a process, to commit to the long fermentation. But you also need flexibility. Maybe your kitchen is colder than usual. Maybe your dough needs more time. Maybe today just isn’t the day it comes together perfectly. That duality of structure and adaptability is something I carry into my workouts. Plans are important, but being able to pivot is what keeps you moving forward.

Here’s a great link on inquiry as teaching patience:

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/10778004241288599

Student-Teaching and Future Teaching

In the classroom, it’s almost like I’m working with a room full of “starters.” Every student is at a different stage; some are bubbling with confidence, others are slow to rise, and a few might feel like they’re going nowhere at all. Sourdough has taught me that growth isn’t linear. Some days your starter doubles beautifully, and other days it barely moves. But that doesn’t mean it’s failing; it might just need more time, a different environment, or a slight adjustment.

The same applies to students. Inquiry-based learning, much like sourdough, requires space for trial and error. When I design lessons for student-teaching, I’m starting to lean into this mindset: not every activity needs a perfect outcome. What matters is the symbiotic teaching process: the curiosity, the questions, the willingness to try again after something doesn’t work. If sourdough has taught me anything about teaching, it’s that there is no perfect recipe.

Sometimes when baking, I cling tightly to instructions, grams, timings, and exact steps. Teaching can feel the same way at the beginning: lesson plans, curriculum outcomes, time blocks, and expectations. But just like in baking, you quickly realize that following the plan exactly doesn’t guarantee the outcome you imagined. Every class is different. Every group of students brings its own environment, its own energy, needs, strengths, and challenges. In sourdough, temperature, humidity, and flour quality change everything. In the classroom, it’s relationships, emotions, prior knowledge, and even the time of day.

Good teaching, like good baking, comes from learning how to respond-not just follow. One of the hardest shifts as a student teacher is letting go of control. It’s tempting to want to give students the answers, to guide them step-by-step so everything turns out right. But sourdough doesn’t work like that-and neither does meaningful learning.

Fermentation takes time. It’s a process where something is developing beneath the surface, even when you can’t immediately see it. Inquiry-based learning mirrors this. When students are given space to explore, question, and experiment, their understanding deepens in ways that a direct explanation can’t always achieve.

This might look like:

• Letting students make predictions before teaching a concept
• Encouraging trial and error instead of immediate correction
• Allowing productive struggle instead of stepping in too quickly

Just like dough, students need time to sit with ideas, stretch them, reshape them, and sometimes start again. This inquiry doesn’t have to stay metaphorical. There are real, tangible ways I can bring sourdough thinking into my teaching:

• Science connections: fermentation, yeast, and chemical reactions
• Math connections: ratios, scaling recipes, measuring ingredients
• Literacy: procedural writing, reflective journaling on process and results
• Social-emotional learning: patience, resilience, and growth mindset

Even if I’m not baking bread in the classroom, I can design lessons that mirror the same process: explore, test, reflect, adjust.

Link to resource for students on sourdough starters:

https://jessie-may.com/posts/my-sourdough-practice-resources-list

Growth Mindset

As a student teacher, working as a server and bartender AND SPINCO worker, and someone who genuinely loves cooking, baking, and working out, I’ve found that the process of sourdough is more than a hobby. It’s an inquiry into patience, resilience, and learning from failure-lessons that translate directly into real life. Good teaching, like good baking, comes from learning how to respond- not just follow.

A sourdough starter is alive. It needs consistent care, attention, and patience before it becomes strong enough to rise on its own. A classroom is no different. Trust doesn’t appear overnight in the classroom. Students need to feel safe, seen, and valued before they’re willing to take risks in their learning. Without a strong starter, the bread doesn’t rise. Without a strong classroom community, learning doesn’t either.

It’s tempting to want to give students the answers, to guide them step-by-step so everything turns out “right.” But sourdough doesn’t work like that-and neither does meaningful learning. Fermentation takes time. It’s a process where something is developing beneath the surface, even when you can’t immediately see it.

A flat loaf used to feel like failure- now, it feels like information. Was it under-proofed? Over-proofed? Too cold? Too rushed? In teaching, I’m learning to approach lessons the same way. When something doesn’t go as planned, students disengage, an activity falls flat, timing goes sideways- it’s easy to internalize it as failure. I’m happy to have learned this before my first practicum, so I won’t be overwhelmed or disappointed if something goes sideways.

Instead, I can reflect and ask myself:

• Maybe the instructions weren’t clear
• Maybe the task wasn’t accessible for all learners
• Maybe the pacing didn’t match the group’s needs

Just like adjusting hydration or fermentation time, teaching is about iteration. You tweak, reflect, and try again. This mindset also models something powerful for students: that mistakes are not something to avoid-they’re something to learn from. Some students need more support, more time, or different ways of accessing the material. Others are ready to extend, explore deeper, or move faster. Applying a “one-size-fits-all” approach in either baking or teaching doesn’t work. The magic happens when you notice those differences and respond intentionally.

At its core, this entire sourdough inquiry is a practice in developing a growth mindset, not just for students, but for myself as an educator. A growth mindset is the belief that abilities, intelligence, and understanding can be developed through effort, time, and persistence. Sourdough embodies this idea perfectly. You don’t start with mastery-you start with uncertainty. Your first loaf might fail, your starter might struggle, and your timing might be completely off. But with each attempt, you learn, adjust, and improve.

This directly translates into the classroom. When I approach teaching with a growth mindset, I shift from asking, “Did this lesson work?” to “What did this teach me?” Instead of expecting immediate success, I begin to value iteration, reflection, and persistence.

And just like with baking, the goal isn’t to get it perfect on the first try. It’s to keep showing up, keep refining, and trust that growth is happening-even when I can’t immediately see it.

Links to videos to aid student understanding of a growth-mindset: