The Town That Lived in a Sourdough Jar
Marisol kept a jar of sourdough starter on the shelf beside the stove. It was a pasty mixture of flour and water that bubbled enthusiastically whenever it was fed. Her father insisted that it was alive, which she had always taken to mean that it was a kind of tiny plant.
What she did not know was that, deep inside the jar, there was an entire town.
It was a town of crumb-sized houses with roofs of dried crust. The bakers who lived there wore flour-white aprons and hats shaped like loaves. Every morning, a great pale cloud of flour drifted down from the lid, and the whole town gathered to cheer and eat.
Then Marisol left for a week of camp and forgot to feed the jar. The flour cloud never came. The tiny bakers grew thin and weary, and their bubbles, which served as windows and doorbells alike, stopped popping.
On the eighth day, Marisol returned and examined the jar. It was flat and perfectly silent. She held it up to the light, and a single bubble rose slowly and popped.
Pop. Pop-pop. Pop.
"That is a message!" she whispered. She drummed three taps on the glass, and the bubbles popped back at once. She understood immediately. She spooned in fresh flour, poured warm water and stirred slowly.
The jar began to bubble all over again. Inside, tiny bakers cheered, and a doorbell rang in every house.