It’s all my daughter’s fault. She drives me to homebrew.
Before she was born, I’d never made a single beer, barely knew anything about beer, and really didn’t think I was missing much. Looking back now on my pre-homebrewing days, I often wonder why I never got into the hobby more. I think the answer lies in my feelings about beer at the time. I wasn’t a big fan of what I now know is pale American lager, and I was only barely aware of other beers. Now whiskey, that was a different story. I could talk to you forever about whiskey (and still can)! In fact, it was during one particularly brilliant brain-storm that I came up with the idea of trying to make my own whiskey. I quick scan of the internet turned up the depressing fact that making whiskey has the downside of being a federal crime.
But, it turned out, whiskey and beer were very similar creatures, and making beer was both easy and legal. I decided it might be worth a shot. And somehow, I managed to convince my wife, who was nine months pregnant at the time, that homebrewing was a good idea. How did I manage such a thing? My powers of persuasion are legendary. Did I mention I have the greatest, most understanding wife in the world?
And so it was that on Christmas day, just one week after my daughter was born, my wife gave me my first homebrew kit, and two books about beer. The following week, with my daughter napping nearby, I brewed my very first batch. It was an IPA, and it was terrible.
I was hooked.
Hey Daddy, what are you doing down here? |
That first year, I made a brown ale, a blueberry ale, a witbier, and a spiced ale, and by the end of the year, even my daughter was getting in on the act. I don’t blame her. She was crawling around, and wanted to know why Dad was sitting on the floor with all those brown glass things. And the dad in me just wanted to teach her all about beer, or about as much as an eight month old is prepared to learn.
Since then, my darling daughter has been featured on more than one of my beer labels, and I named a batch of homemade wine after her.
How do I reconcile my parenting credentials with my loving of brewing and imbibing adult beverages? Do I ever feel guilty about exposing my young, impressionable child to the existence of such things as beer and wine? Or do I hide what I do for when she is not around?
Ask my daughter, “What does Daddy make?” and she will answer: “Beer!”
My little wort chiller, getting her old man some ice. In princess dress, of course |
And yes, sometimes she still helps. Just not with the hot parts. Safety first.
I have helped raise a daughter and made over a hundred gallons of beer over the past nearly four years. So far as I know, my daughter has not turned into a raging alcoholic, or been corrupted by her exposure to the existence of things that grown-ups drink. I have never accidentally given her the wrong kind of bottle, and I have never tucked my beers in and kissed them goodnight (well, almost never).
I treasure the time I have with my daughter, watching her grow up and learn about the world around her. I have tried teaching her about the world, tried to make her love books and reading as much as I do, and tried to give her a safe, happy home to grown up in. And, at the same time, I treasure my brewing times. Brewing has become a kind of working meditation. Brewing is a fairly slow process, whether I’m slowly stirring the mash, methodically cleaning and sanitizing ever piece of equipment, or just waiting while the yeast do their job, it takes anywhere from two weeks to a month or more just to make a batch of beer. It forces me to slow down, to think differently, and when my daughter is bouncing off the walls with enough renewable energy to permanently replace fossil fuels, homebrewing helps me shift gears, to a place where things don’t move so fast, don’t need to go to soccer practice right after school and before a pajama storytime at the library. Beer helps remind me of the pace of life, and that I sometimes need to slow down to make sure I’m enjoying every moment. I can’t slow down how fast my daughter is growing anymore than I can speed up the time to make a good marzen lager. But I can slow myself down sometimes and take the time to enjoy my family, and enjoy a good beer.
So like I said, I blame my daughter. She drives me to homebrew.
I love all my children... |