Bale Breaker’s taproom is temporarily closed to the public, but we are running curbside pickup hours every Thurs/Friday from 3-6pm and Saturday from 12-5pm. Click here for this week's menu.
By Owner & Brewmaster Kevin "Smitty" Smith
We all seek finality. Nobody wants to see something partially through. An untied braid does not hold. An unopen flower is indistinguishable from a weed.
Life can be fleeting. Why sell yourself short?
We all hope for a life of fulfilment. Riding out to the sunset. Joyous. Complete.
Completion is embedded in human nature. If not for nothing more than the proliferation of our species.
Hops are no different than people.
Every year, hops strive toward botanical ecstasy. Small sprigs reach for the highest of heights. Sunrise after sunset, the goal remains the same. With unwavering determination, they reach for the sky. As farmers, we aid them in their goal. We have a common interest. Thus, we are partners on this journey.
Hand in hand, we navigate the perils of the growing season. Every pass around the sun, the game remains the same. Reach the top. Bloom. Pick. Brew. Enjoy.
Life goes on in a symbiotic cycle that not only fulfills the plant, but it fulfills the brewers and all those searching through the bottom of a pint glass.
Yet, one time a year the cycle gets broken. We brewers steal some hops before they see the kilning floor.
We’ve found that If you put a tr*ckload of unkilned hops into a beer—and I mean a fucking tr*ckoad—the beer is amazing.
However, when the hops fall, that is not the time to enjoy (i.e. drink) these works of art.
When the hops fall off the bine, it is time to brew these works of art.
**Grabs ladder in one hand. Grabs megaphone in the other. Calmly crawls to the top of a very large soap box**
“September is not the month to drink fresh hop beers. September is the month to make them.”
Sure, some may say, “Well, we can get creative and get them out fast. It doesn’t hurt anything.”
To that, I say, “While that is true, who picks the very first smallest, unripe, apple from the tree to make an apple pie?”
They might say, “Don’t judge my grandma’s cooking, you prick.”
And, to that I would respond, “Your grandmother is an angel. Don’t bring her into this debate.”
These beers should be brewed in honor of those that work hard in the fields to get our hops from the ground to the glass.
Therefore, we should only raise our glass once the harvest is over—in celebration of the work that was done.
**Stumbles down from soap box to the solitary applause from friend’s grandmother…**
Posted September 11, 2020