Got a 2018 Sucaba from Firestone Walker today, delivered to me by the fine folks at Bailey’s…which is now closed. They’ll be doing one more set of deliveries on Wednesday, and then…that is it, and nobody knows how long they will be closed for.
The beer was part of a ‘dealer’s choice’ option I asked for and I got a fine selection of stuff to try in response.
The Sucaba is a barleywine, and it is very malty, with a hint of dark fruit and does not shy away from a bite on the end, not dissimilar to coffee. I like it. A well chosen beer.
Take your wins where you can get them, yes?
It barely seems like an eyeblink away that I started writing from the porch, and yet so much has happened. Now it’s fall, and a deadline is coming at all of us like the boulder rolling after Indiana Jones. It is not a comforting feeling-we are not Indy. Lacking plot armor, it is entirely possible we won’t make it.
And if we do, a shitty Nazi collaborator might be there to try and kick us in the teeth.
Nazis. Why does it always have to be Nazis?
(I actually know the answer to this: it is because America has never truly come to reckon with it’s racist history, both towards Black Americans and towards the indigenous people we stole land from, and as a result, we’ve allowed a pernicious story about traitors to become one, instead, about noble gentlemen who merely wanted states’ rights. Instead of telling those traitors to fuck off into the sun.)
But for now, on a cool autumn afternoon, I have a beer. The squirrel in the ash tree nearby is making a fast getaway from another squirrel in a cartoon comedy way. The small actions of millions of people are steeling themselves against the large actions of a very few. We aren’t alone. The moment is good.
Look for your good moments, folks.
Today’s second pint goes to the Oregon Food Bank.
A pint for Dionysus 