An Exploration of Buildings and Beer

On Saturday Richard came to Meadow House and we set off on a much looked forward to day of urbexing and beer. We wanted to stay relatively local so a friend had supplied me with a location right out in the boondocks but within an hour's drive from my house. Summer had packed its bags and left for the year and Fall had settled in, cool temperatures throughout the region with a brisk wind thrown in, ensuring a jacket needed to be worn.
We meandered along country lanes, zig-zagged down towards a river and eventually came across the gate we'd been told to look out for. Zipping up my coat, with camera bag across my shoulders and hands thrust deep into my pockets, we marched across a field towards some derelict log buildings. The wind was biting and I wondered if I should have brought hand warmers. The temperatures had dropped so dramatically in the last few days, that it seemed infeasible to assume 90 degree days wouldn't return. The memories of intense heat and AC were still fresh in my mind and I wasn't yet mentally prepared for winter.

The old structures in front of us were impressive. Made of large logs and plaster with chimneys and outdoor fireplaces of river stone, this had likely been a ROTC site. Inside we would find signatures of old attendees with dates from the 70's and 80's daubed in pen or paint on the walls and inside lockers. The interiors were also surprisingly dry with very little mold present.

It was nice to be exploring again, it's been a long time since my last excursion. Today the air was crisp, the wind nipping at my nose. The leaves around the buildings were slowly changing, finally giving up their hold on a green mantle, the edges of each leaf tinged with golds and oranges. A Virginia creeper caught my eye, glints of burgundy and ruby fluttering on the walls. Curled up brown and dusty leaves from last year were still carpeting the concrete floor under porches, and from outside one of the upstairs windows I was amazed to see a pale golden honeysuckle flower, like a jewel illuminating the shadowy woods, and obviously refusing to accept that summer has ended. I stood watching it blow bravely in the wind for a few minutes, glad I'd witnessed this persistent survivor.

We left the main buildings, walking down a hill to another half fallen down building that seemed to be part of the complex. It held a kitchen and dining area, but the roof had collapsed, exposing it to the elements. The stove had rusted but daubs of color were still visible, peeling paint and bright green weeds, clutching a hold on their newly found domain. We poked around an old barn and abandoned house, which had a door painted with 'PLEASE LEAVE', and so we did. Back in the warm car, Richard mentioned food and I suddenly realized how famished I was. It was past lunch time yet I'd been too absorbed in taking photos to think of my stomach.

We drove to Woodstock Brewhouse, looking forward to some stellar beers and food, since they had high ratings. But we were disappointed. We tried the whole range of beers, leaving out a pumpkin ale and a lager style beer, but of the 10 we tried none were memorable. The nachos were also disappointing, covered largely with iceberg lettuce and canned cheese. We didn't linger and we didn't choose another plate of food which had been our original intention.
Further down the road we came across an old farm and stopped to investigate.

The house was closed tight but the old barn was a draw, the rust and wood textures looking wonderfully warm and rich under the afternoon sun. We found the skeleton of a horse inside which saddened us. Had it been ill and found a dry place to die or had it simply been mistreated? I wondered if it was the latter as I came across a wooden cattle trough inside another barn, its sides chewed down and wondered if the animals here had been starved. I was happy to leave this place.

Our last stop was a favorite brewery of mine, Swover Creek Farm Brewery, a wonderful little uncommercialized place tucked down a narrow country road, where low hedges of fruit grew in a field next to the road and chickens scurried back and forth in front of the farm. I had discovered this gem in 2015 when they were just converting their barn into a tap room. Beer was drunk instead in their kitchen. It was great sitting in that comfortable environment, enjoying conversation with a couple of cyclists who were also perched at a tall table by the kitchen counter. I miss that experience but the new taproom is warm and inviting, unlike many of the large industrial breweries that are now so popular. We dove straight in with a flight of the beers on the board and were not disappointed. All were solid ales but we both agreed the best was the Vanilla Habanero Porter, a beer I seldom choose. But this brew was perfection, a smooth blend with a sweet kick. I couldn't stop sipping it. A local advised us to try the baked jalapeno poppers, which were also delicious. No canned cheese here, instead a thick herby crust of cheddar cheese over green spicy peppers which had enough of a kick to satisfy but not so much that you were reaching for a glass to quench the fire.
Richard and I had also purchased some goodies from the farm shop. He got fresh eggs, a steak and kielbasa while I went home with a packet of bratwurst, made with the farm's beer and their duck eggs. I wished I'd got more, they were the best sausages I'd eaten in a while. I will definitely be returning as the pizzas were also highly recommended.

Content to drop back into the car with full bellies, we slowly wound our way back to Rte 11 again and headed homewards. A beautiful old barn caught our attention, the late sun's rays blinking through holes in the roof and highlighting the beautiful woodwork. A few quick photos and then we jumped back into the cozy car. The temperature had dropped dramatically, while the winds had also upped their gusto. I'd better start digging for the hand warmers to keep in my camera bag.