Every surface in my kitchen is covered in flour and water. It reminds me of the paste of my childhood. But that is okay, because so does sourdough. He would make us pancakes for breakfast whenever he could. I have thought of my father so often over the last few days. Days of feeding the starter he gave me some 40+ years ago. The starter that I finally got serious about and tried something other than pancakes. When I took the lid off the dutch over, my heart skipped a beat and I almost cried. It was a three day process (next time it will only be two), but there is was. . . not bad for my first go at it.