Beer Run

Late this afternoon we took a drive to Monson, a neighboring town just over the mountain. We have a birthday coming up and I had an idea for a unique gift.

Our local paper had just run an article about a craft brewery in Monson and included the fact that its product is rated among the top 250 beers in the country.

“Just the thing!” I thought.

I rounded up my long-suffering husband and off we went.

The location is idyllic, on top of Monson mountain (really a very large hill) on a stretch of plateau that looks over the Pioneer Valley here in Massachusetts.

We arrived at what I thought was the beginning of the hours they’re open to the public, but there were already people waiting there. People who looked like they’d been there for a while already.

But everyone outside seemed philosophically settled in for the duration.

Inside the owners leave their guitars hanging on the wall for anyone who might want to jam for a bit.

Turns out the beer is filled one bottle at a time while you wait. We were obviously the newbies. People arrived with coolers for transport and lawn chairs for waiting.

I struck up a conversation with the mother of one of the brewers. 

She runs a farm stand and gift shop next door, not to mention the 100 year old farm where the brewery is housed. 

She said people arrive hours before the store even opens, and when the wait goes longer than three hours her son has been known to order pizza delivered for his customers.

The process:

You determine which of the brews on tap that day you wish to purchase.

You fill out a card indicating your choice(s).

You submit your card and you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

We stood around.

We went down the road to a creamery for ice cream.

We returned and learned it would be another half hour.

We wandered around the neighboring gift shop and looked at candles, jewelry, and knick knacks.

We returned to learn it would be another half hour.

We went for a drive through the town’s back roads.

We returned and

Safely at home in our fridge.

Success!

And it only took two and a half hours.

Feeeelings

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you make them feel."

                                                                 Maya Angelou

      Ms.  Angelou's quote could be a discouraging thought for any teacher who has stood in the front of the room carrying on about isosceles triangles or the use of passive voice.

So There!

You may recall a previous post

( Waiting for the Other Shoe)

about our efforts for the past ten years to finally enjoy a harvest – however small - from our peach tree.

Impromptu Visit

   Any lingering doubts about Satchel’s keen instincts have been laid to rest. They’re gone, kaput, fini. Not only is he deaf to all but the loudest door slam, his sense of smell is questionable, too.

Final Step

Here's my contribution to 

Five Sentence Fiction

This week's prompt is 

Fearless

 You'll find other entries at

Lillie McFerrin Writes

William looked out to the world beyond as he said to her, “We have to do it while we still have some time left,”

She twisted her hands together, so quiet he almost missed her words, “I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“Look, we’ve prepared for this – it’s not like we didn’t know this moment would come,” this with a quick sigh, trying to hide his impatience.

 “True, but. . . it feels so uncertain . . . and there’s really no going back.”

He leaned down to kiss her and hold her eyes with his as he said, “Today’s the day; I’m turning in my retirement papers.”

Waiting for the Other Shoe

When each of our grandchildren was born, we planted a tree.

 

Personal Space

I wish I had better powers of concentration. I'm fascinated by those people (probably mostly under the age of thirty) who read with the evening news droning from the television or music blasting from their headphones.

Reading and Riding

     The two of us were out for a bike ride the other day on the kind of route I like best – meandering around the streets of our small town. What’s not to like about looking at houses and their summer flowers? 

Baring My Sole

Will someone explain the obsession with feet?

I’m not talking about those foot-fetish people who skulk around smelling strangers’ shoes at the bowling alley.

Razing the Roof

     For the past three days I’ve been entertaining a yardfull of big, sweaty men. 

Re-Write

Here's my not-very-fictional contribution to

Five Sentence Fiction. 

This week's topic is Pages.
You can find other entries at 

Lillie McFerrin Writes

In chapter seven, Cate MacLeod and Taser the wolfhound made a hideous discovery during a walk in the woods.  It had taken a while to get them there, what with the need to first introduce characters, provide background and establish motives.

Now things were sailing along nicely as page 175 went by and chapter fourteen closed, with red herrings liberally sprinkled about and a minor love interest created. The phone rang, the long-awaited call from the agent: Move the murder to chapter two.

The writer heaved a long, sad sigh and sat down to the blank page before her. 

What Air Conditioning Took From Us

          My grandfather's house in Oklahoma, large, with whitewashed brick, was where I spent much of the summer during my pre-air conditioning childhood.

Creatures and Culture

We live not even a half mile from the center of town, but we do have our share of woods and sometimes it does feel a bit as though nature is closing in around here.

People are Strange

I began yesterday with a water aerobics class and as my day progressed, my fellow humans provided me with several opportunities for reflection.

Back to Nature

     It would be difficult to find someone who doesn’t say she looks forward to the arrival of summer. We kick off our boots (real or metaphorical), shedding the difficulties of winter weather, travel, and darkness.