In crazy happenstance I met Sarah and Rick,
owners of Outlaw Brewing Company.
Funny enough, last week I had written about
trying their beer, and now on a Thursday at Open Mic Night, across the bar atWillie McCoy’s fate, it seems, has spoken.
I spent the day wandering around our land in
Vernon, starting our small backyard maple sugarin’ operation. It took me a few hours to put in six taps. And a couple trees may have felt the sharp bite of my drill, only for me to beg forgiveness moments later when the tap hole remained dry, and that diamond shaped bark suddenly looked a hell of a lot more like an ash tree than a maple.{{more}}
With my boots thoroughly soaked, and my wet
socks drying on the car’s heater vents, I met Aria and our friend, Naomi at our rendezvous across from Sweet Water’s Distillery in Winchester. From there, we carpooled (not in the car that smelt like damp wool socks) to Outlaw Brewing Company. After a few back-road turns and twists, we came upon a field where the brewery sat, like the last outpost for miles in one of those Alaska TV shows.
It was love at first sight.
You can’t get more authentic than a brewery
out in a field of snow, a few miles down a small back road in western New
Hampshire. We’re not talking rustic chic here, but the real deal.
Rick and Sarah were gracious hosts, and
quickly became friends. With two flights in front of Aria and I, we tried
everything that was on tap. All the while, cars would pull down the muddy
driveway and people would wander in. With each new comer we’d all turn and say “Hey! How’s it going?” The remarkable thing of this small time pub was the sense of community it fostered. We sang happy birthday to a woman and her friends. We poured over game photos of what was definitely not a house cat but a mountain lion in someone’s backyard. Ashuelot’s owner came down for a drink with his kids, and an older couple wandered in from who-knows where and we all laughed at the chances we’d all make it to this little room in the middle of nowhere.
Rick made some fine beer, and the two flights
disappeared and a pint was poured with my favorite, the “20.” In all honesty, I didn’t take notes on what I was drinking, and didn’t do my amateur best at noting hops and bitterness and the way the beer feels on the inside of my cheeks. I was enamoured with a new experience. People say American’s don’t know the name of their neighbors anymore, and that might be true. But now I know the names of my neighborhood brewers, and I’ll definitely be going back for more.
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Colby Thompson currently lives in Keene New Hampshire.
Colby Thompson is a wannabee Vermonter, living in Keene New
Hampshire. His days are taken up building his tiny house on wheels with his partner, Aria, or working on clients videos for his wedding film business.
Colby traveled around the country twice in his 1975 VW bus and is looking forward to his next chapter homesteading on his land in southern Vermont. He likes beer, cheese and cheap wine.
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