The Beast of Beer takes over DC

On Saturday I drove down to DC to work the Snallygaster Beer Festival with friends, but was miffed when after a few miles, I realized I'd left my travel mug of tea sitting on the kitchen counter. Yet an incident free journey and a parking space right outside of Margie's house made the world right again, and Margie very kindly made us coffee in disposable mugs to walk down to town with. It was a 45 minute walk, a perfect mini workout that woke me up properly, along with the coffee. The sky was cloudy, a cool breeze whisked through my hair, the temperature in the low 70's. An almost ideal environment to be working in, but I was constantly aware of the DC stench, polluted air filled with last night's cooking fumes from restaurants, exhaust gases and the occasional sewage stench. I have no idea where this last pong came from but I just walked swiftly past. I often smell this in cities. I guess it's an 'over population' thing, but I can only shrug it off and give thanks that I live in a small rural town with fresh air.

We passed some interesting murals and a couple of people begging for coffee or money but eventually made it to Pennsylvania Ave, where it was kind of thrilling to be serving beer in front of The Capitol. This is Snally's second year in this location, but unfortunately I missed it last year, due to my damn back letting me down. Thankfully, not something I've had to suffer for a while now. This is the eighth festival and I've now worked 4 of them, it's a fabulous event and exceptionally well organized. I had studied the brewery list beforehand and with nearly 400 brews to taste, was hoping to pour for Equilibrium, one of the breweries on my allocated area.

A small brewery from Middletown, NY, they were featuring 4 hazy IPAs today, my favorite, and I was ecstatic, when because Margie and I had got there early, I was able to pick them for pouring duty. Margie plumped for Founders, next door to me, since they had a couple of award winning stouts, which she loved. Our brewery representative turned up and connected the taps to the barrels, a wonderful sweet smell rising up, like candy floss. I was itching to sample the beers I'd be pouring and wasn't disappointed when we were let loose on the taps. After all, one has to be able to comment on the beers one pours for one's customers. Our job was made easier this year too, because there were no vouchers to collect. Everyone admitted had unlimited pours, albeit they were 3oz, unless specific beers allowed 8oz. But not one person throughout the day whined about their measures since they could keep coming back, they just thrust their glasses forward and accepted their beers with big smiles.

Just before the public were allowed in, I had a quick scout up and down the few vendors selling crafts or foods. The Feathers Feed Jerky was amazing. They gave me a piece shaped like a bacon slice and it was divine, like a piece of English back bacon. Veteran owned and based in PA, they had beef, buffalo, elk, venison and pork products. We had a few more tasters later on in the day and weren't disappointed. Victory Dance Creative caught my eye with his vibrant screen printed posters of DC neighborhoods. I had to have one for my studio and finally plumped on the Columbia Heights image, depicting a style of house I always admire in the city. He kindly looked after my print for me until the festival finished.
And then it was time to get to my station and await the arrival of the VIP guests, those who had paid $100 to have 2 hours first dibs at the beers before the general public were admitted. There were some limited quantity, or 'rare' beers here today which would definitely disappear quickly.

I was amazed at how fast the queues formed at our brewery. I had an opportunity to chat to a few people and admire their t-shirts, and then it was non stop pouring. The time flew by, I couldn't believe it, and soon we were allocating times to get lunch. I wanted to go early before the general public came in, afraid that once the huge crowds arrived I wouldn't be able to stop and eat. With about 2000 VIPs and the total attendance totaling nearly 30000, I wanted to have lunch over and done with before the mad rush, especially as we were given a $10 voucher to spend on the food trucks.

Margie and I plumped for The Big Cheese. Mine was a pesto and tomato affair but it definitely wasn't big. not like the wonderful cheesy doorstop from 'Say Cheese!' I'd demolished at the Frederick Beer Fest. But I was hungry and so down the hatch it went and then we scuttled off to continue pouring. I was glad to get some sustenance in my belly as sampling double and triple IPAs mid morning was taking its toll, but after a few minutes I was back on track and pouring like a champ.

The afternoon whizzed by, a constant flow of people and beer. Equilibrium was obviously a well liked brewery and their east coast style beers were being devoured. But the guy from the brewery was a damp squid. He didn't smile once to us, his unpaid helpers, we didn't even get a thanks at the end! He answered questions briefly and spoke few words. When our beers ran out before the event ended we didn't bother to hang around and help him. But then he disappeared quickly himself. For someone new to the brewery, (he'd been with them for a year), he showed little enthusiasm. I would have been gushing over their stellar brews but this guy was a total drip. But he was soon forgotten as Andrew, Margie and I helped others to empty their kegs and clear up. The ambiance here was amazing. People had been very sensible and there were hardly any kids, even though they were allowed. I didn't see one unhappy face or here a voice raised in anger, we had a very happy crowd here. I don't even recall seeing a police officer.

Our empty table and my colleague Andrew sampling a neighbor's nectar, toasting a job well done. There were plenty of other breweries still pouring their beers and plenty of punters holding out their glasses to be filled. I saw one guy, sitting on the ground, poring over the vast list of beers, and wondered whether he'd managed to keep to a schedule of breweries that had to be sampled and was checking his progress, or was simply wondering how he'd got off track. He only had a few lines highlighted...

As the event closed, the public were herded towards the two exits while we workers were asked to meet at the stage, where huge bins of beers were on ice and pizzas were stacked for demolition. I slid to the ground and we all gratefully got stuck into our pizza slices. Margie had grabbed a few cans for all of us, more hazy IPA, which was far superior than the cardboard pizza. Yet it filled a hole and I was grateful that we didn't have to trudge around DC trying to find a place to eat. As I walked back with Margie, the restaurants were packed tight, likely with starving beer drinkers from the festival. It had been a splendid day, and one I'll be looking forward to repeating next year. Cheers!

Grave Mountain below Somber Peaks

Sunday was a dreary day but still warm, breezy and with little humidity. With rain clouds hanging low and dark in the sky I decided to drive down to the Grave's Mountain Apple Harvest Festival. I hadn't been for a few years but love this rural annual delight, the scenery and rustic activities a wonderful escape from busy life. Driving down a steep mountain road I dipped into the valley and apple country. The store was busy and the apple warehouse was teaming with people, leaning over into huge wooden bins packed with scrumptious crispy apples.

The event is so well organized that although there was about 14,000 people here, fields full of cars and a line of vehicles waiting to park, it was only a few minutes until I was walking along the many booths of vendors displaying home made crafts, paintings, hats and baskets, primitive decorations, wreaths, wooden pens and garden ornaments made from glass, to name a few, all proudly displayed, their creators happy to discuss prices or explain how their skills came into play. I kept looking up at the thunderous clouds, dark and ominous on the mountaintops and heard a man say, "It's raining up thar in them mountains." And following his line of sight I thought that maybe I could see fine lines coming down from the sky.

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I was ravenous after smelling tantalizing aromas of hot apple cider donuts, funnel cakes and kettle corn being cooked. I wandered over to the food tent but the lines were long so I held back, instead standing and listening to a really good bluegrass band called Dark Hollow. And as I stood, my foot tapping to the beat, I looked beyond them and near the creek spotted a booth selling BEER! It was a local brewery from Culpeper called Beer Hound Brewery. They had 2 brews on tap, a stout and a hazy IPA, which of course I chose. Not the best east coast style IPA I've had but it certainly wasn't bad, and I strolled down to the Rose River, a small creek slowly rolling over boulders and rocks that children and adults perched upon while eating their lunch. Small children rode around a pen on ponies, grinning at their parents, or hanging on for grim death, even though the ponies were only walking. Folks took family photos among the pumpkins or tried to find the perfect shape for decorating their front porches. A civil war camp was set up by some trees, a small fire crackling and trying to stay alight in the strong breeze that would suddenly pick up and set their flags snapping.

 

My favorite photo of the day. A cute little girl with ribbons in her hair begging to be helped up to the final pinnacle of the hay stacks, her little arms and legs unable to lift her to that crowning position. And yes, the others helped her.

A big teddy bear made from hay had a long line of ardent photographers waiting to capture a family day out in a picture. And the apples. Lots of crispy crunchy globes of deliciousness piled up in wooden crates. I so badly wanted some, but still have half a big bag full at home from last weekend. But I could smell their sweet freshness and so hung around a little to enjoy the fragrance.

The apple butter in the making. These men had been stirring it for hours and were now adding the sugar. It would cook for some time yet before it was bottled and sold later that afternoon. I sniffed deeply as I stood watching but then had to walk over to the food tent as my tummy was grumbling loudly. So many tantalizing scents but nothing was going down the hatch. So I stood in the much shorter line, now it was well past lunch time, and opted for the Brunswick stew. It was wonderful. Thick and tasty, heaped with pork, tomatoes and lima beans. I was surprised as I left the tent to see rain beginning to fall. So that man had been right, he had seen rain on the mountain, and now it was here. It was only coming down lightly, an earthy scent lifting up from the dusty ground as the few rain drops soaked in, but it was a good time for me to leave and walk to the car.
I thought I'd drive home across those mountains we'd been looking at. From Sperryville, I can drive up the mountain side and then follow the road right into Front Royal along the mountain ridge tops.

A low blanket of cloud sat atop the mountain like a huge roll of cotton wool. It had been raining but had stopped as I drove along the winding roads, stopping at the outlooks. Not many other people were up in the park but a few braved the chilly winds to step out of their cars and take photos, watching as the clouds were pushed across the horizon, tendrils and wisps curling and spiraling as the wind tugged and broke them away. Some misty patches floated across the road blocking the light and spreading across the tarmac. I didn't see any wildlife, no bears or squirrels, no deer or even vultures skimming across the valley. The trees were very green, only a hint of fall hues, a speck of red, a few golden splashes, patches of brown. I'll be keeping a close eye to monitor the change so I can come back up early one morning, able now to beat the leaf peepers that flock in from surrounding cities, but for now the sudden drop in temperature wasn't welcome when I was only wearing a t-shirt and capris. It was time to head home for a hot cup of tea.

Trucking Apples to a Winery

Saturday was another sweltering day so, not wanting to expend much energy, I decided to check out an antique truck show in Winchester. I've always adored American trucks, their huge size and power so intimidating in a fascinating way. I'm just drawn to them. The vehicles here today had been scrubbed and polished, their chrome and glass dazzling in the bright sunshine, and proud owners sat under shady canopies, willing to answer any questions about their prized possessions. I had no idea what kind of questions to ask, and really wasn't bothered about engine size or what was under the hoods. I just wanted to admire their stunning bodywork, and examine all the decorative details. Hood ornaments, lights and paint jobs were all scrutinized by yours truly as I circled them all, savoring the wafts of engine oil as I passed them by.

 I loved the chrome starburst paneling on this cab and actually had a question about whether those circular dents were bullet marks. They certainly couldn't be hail, but the owner wasn't around, so I had to assume it was an unfortunate vandal attack.

 There were a few new models and I fell in love with this Mack. It looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie, transporting aliens to Area 51 or was an Apocalypse survivor getaway vehicle. It likely hauled sacks of potatoes in real life, but not in my imagination.

This truck lured me closer with its dark and ominous exterior. I've always been a little frightened of these huge beasts after watching Duel, a 1971 movie, in my youth. These monster trucks were something never seen in England and their sheer size with their deep roaring engines always terrified me. I still feel uneasy whenever I see one behind me in my rear view or side view mirror when driving. I have Stephen King to thank for that instilled fear, but I'm still drawn towards them when they're silently standing still with engines off.

As I was photographing a couple of shiny behemoths, a couple of ladies called me over to show me the interior of their trailer, so I happily obliged, trotting over to the steps. The doors were covered with metal logos and plates, collected for over 50 years, and inside was a little home for traveling. Truck bench seats, (I would love these for my home), led to a double bed at the end, curtains in place for privacy. They told me it was very warm and cozy during the winter yet managed to stay cool in the summer if breezes blew through. It did look comfy, a great party venue at these such events, and it certainly beat a tent.

Of course there were some gorgeous hood ornaments, some I'd never seen before. The detail of the outfits on the Mack fire truck dogs were amazing. And it was a first for me to spot the little Mack dogs on the headlights. I've decided that I need a Mack dog to sit on Big Red, that would be a first. A red kayak floating across a lake with a little chrome woofer sparkling in the sun. I wonder if there's a cat hood ornament out there for sale....

 

The sun was relentless, forcing folks to skirt around close to the trucks and find some refuge in their looming shadows, but the sticky humidity was making the strap of my heavy camera rub sorely against my neck. My bag was stuck to my back and I was yearning to return to the AC in my car. I took one last shot, a selfie in the chromed wheel of a truck and then retreated to the parking lot. But it had been amazing to see so many wonderfully preserved, much loved trucks at one show.
As I drove towards home I decided to stop and pick some apples. I usually eat two daily on work days and the soggy pithy fruits in the stores were obviously left over from last year. So I stopped at Marker-Miller Orchards, just outside Winchester.

Although very commercialized, and full of small children, the farm was well organized. And I'd much rather see kids here, in the fresh air, eating fruit, rather than hanging out with their parents in a brewery which seems to be the rage right now. There were 3 types of apples which I was interested in trying. I prefer tart flavors, rather than the sweet candy apples that others like. Red Stayman, Rome and Crispin were the ones I walked towards, swinging my plastic bag and already strategising my route. I'd walk down the rows, munch on a few samples, and then walk back towards the start before filling my bag, which I knew would be heavy. The Red Staymans were easily the best, crisp and crunchy, full of flavor, juices running down my chin as I battled to close my jaw in a bite on the huge fruits. The Rome apples were dark and a little dry, the Crispins too sugary. The trees were loaded with fruit, all of it show standard, with no blemishes. Perfect baubles begging to be plucked. And pluck I did. One hand tugging the apples from their branches, while I ate with my other hand, my bag on my arm. There was none of that horrible waxy preservative found on store apples, just a slight dusty film, and when polished against my t-shirt, they shone like jewels. And yes, I did pick the glowing globe above, nestled on its emerald leaves. After taking its photo I couldn't leave it behind. I filled my bag so much that I could barely hold the handles together and had to cradle it like a baby as I walked to the car. I'll definitely be back here next year, maybe before the end of this season.
On Sunday I decided to drive out to an old house that I'd seen posted on a Facebook page of abandoned homes in VA. Jeff and I had driven past it earlier on in the year but hadn't been sure whether it was empty or not, so had decided to pass it by.

It was close to a main road and even when I drove down the driveway my car was still visible to passing vehicles so I had to make my visit short. It was definitely empty but was also tightly locked up. Peering through the windows I could make out a few possessions left behind yet none were the dusty old broken antiques I'd been hoping to spy. No old rockers covered in cobwebs with dusty glasses standing on a warped table. Just piles of rubbish and carrier bags. I roamed around the back garden and then left, not wanting to explain my presence to any police that had been alerted by motorists spotting a female looking in windows of an empty house.

Disappointed, I drove down country lanes, heading for home. I pulled over when I spotted a herd of bison in a field. Never having seen any close up before, I hung over the fence, hoping their curiosity would draw them over. But the poor beasts didn't look too happy in the heat. Plagued by clouds of flies, they stood or laid, looking miserable, and likely longing for the fall weather. I thought they looked really skinny but then realized the photos I'd seen of them had shown them wearing their shaggy winter coats, making them look much bigger and more formidable than they appeared today. I hopped back into the car and before arriving home, I made a last minute decision to stop at a local winery I'd had my eye on for a time. Not being a fan of larger commercialized wineries, Chester Gap Cellars is tiny, only open 3 days a week, and very inviting with friendly staff. Perched on the apex of a 1000ft hill and overlooking the mountains, it has a beautiful view. The tasting wasn't overpriced and I was delighted to discover I enjoyed all that I tried, nearly all of them dry. My favorite was the Petit Verdot, a dark cherry and red currant blend, aged for 24 months in oak barrels. It was scrumptious. I had a glass and joined a couple of ladies outside on the small patio, fresh cool breezes breaking up the humidity of the afternoon. I had planned to have just the one and head for home, but found myself chatting with the owner and another couple, who were also visiting for the first time, and so a second glass was purchased. Justin is planting Chardonnay grapes and hopes to produce the wine in 5 years. 2 years of cutting the grapes back as they grow to encourage strong root growth on the slopes and then 2 years of producing grapes before he can make the wine. I'm happy to wait, and plan on making this little gem, tucked away in the hills, my local winery. A lovely end to my weekend!