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A break for lunch and a short nap broke up the day, and by 3 p.m. we were back in the bakery, where Popine had expanded to fill her pail. Carefully divided, she provided enough raw material for several batches of bread in a large p?trin, a commercial mixer large enough to bathe several children in at once.

The starter was combined with flour, salt, and water to form the dough, which was made in batches. Each batch was carefully measured, and as the afternoon progressed, I noticed that Ad?e used less starter with each. He explained: 'Popine,' whom he insisted on referring to by name, 'gets more and more sour as the day goes by, so I use less of her in each batch and the bread has the same flavor.' The batches were timed to a two-hour interval, to allow the oven to be reheated and the loaves to finish rising in rapid succession the next morning.

The process seemed simple, albeit long, arduous, and somewhat tedious. But the resulting bread was worth the effort -- a crisp crust, a hint of sour (French sourdough is much less sour than its American counterpart), and an irregular crumb. As for me, I thought I had the process down pretty well. In less than 12 hours, I reasoned, I had learned what students of French bakery schools spend months studying. Any vestige of self-doubt evaporated when Adee handed me a small jar containing a piece of Popine -- a parting gift and my personal connection to the history of bread.

Charles Capaldi has three children with bellies full of crusty, whole-grain bread. Excerpted from the Small Farmer's Journal (Winter 2006), winner of the 2005 Utne Independent Press Award for Best Environmental Coverage. Subscriptions: $30/yr. (4 issues) from Box 1627, Sisters, OR 97759; www.smallfarmersjournal.com.

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