Barn Cleanup, Part One – The Start

In preparation of my boatbuilding adventures, I have to prep the barn. This is where I’ll be doing the building; it will also become my shop. It’ll be quite the bit of work.

The barn has been primarily used as storage since shortly after we moved to the homestead. There was a little initial repair–I had to patch a couple of holes in the roof, and replace one of the roofing sheets when we took out the chimney. And there’s still some to do, yet. We’re getting water intrusion from the eastern wall (which is set into the hillside). I think we’ll have to go as far as to dig the earth back a bit on the outside, and possibly re-set some of the wall.

One issue I’ve been puzzling over is the doorways. The barn doors will be replaced, because I really don’t like the sliding style that are on the building. But a problem comes up with the width of the doors. They’re about 7-1/2 feet wide; if I’m going to build a James Cook, this is a problem–that model has 8′ of beam. I’ll need to widen the doors at least a foot (to allow “wiggle room”), if not a foot and a half. There’s an interior wall with the same basic issue.

I think I can do it, if I “sister” some beams through the existing wall and header, on either side of the wall. I’ll probably have to put uprights/studs beneath them for support (inside and outside, as well). Then cut away the “excess” doorway… Fortunately, it’s cinder block. And I don’t think it’s as essential to the structure of the building as it might be. (But putting the support headers will help, particularly if I bolt through the blocks in multiple places, and attach to the existing header.)

First, though, there’s cleanup. Here are some pictures of the “starting” state of the barn–I’ve already hauled a bunch of stuff out; there’s more still to go, then there’s hooking up lights and fans…

Barn, Front Face
The “front” of the barn.
Barn, Inside Front Door
The inside of the barn, from right inside the “front door”.
"Back Room" of the barn
From the entrance into the back room of the barn.
From the Back of the Barn
View from the back corner of the barn, towards the front entrance

To Sail Away

So, it’s the middle of a sweltering summer, and to help counteract the heat (or perhaps because of the heat), I’m considering adding another “B” to my list of activities: Boats. Sailboats, in particular, and the building thereof. (Wait… should that actually count as two things?)

The notion struck me at work one day. I spent 20 years in the Navy as a “sailor,” but never really sailed a single day. Ten months of sea time, but that was all motoring–and I had precious little to do with any of that.

I was also looking for a way to beat the heat, remain socially distant, and maybe even get a little fishing done. So, as with all such things, I did a little research.

We live near enough to the Chesapeake that finding somewhere to take lessons is trivial. Google lists dozens of places, all within a reasonable distance. So, learning how to sail can be arranged.

Most of the places to learn will also rent boats–for everything from one day in the bay fishing trips, on to bareboat charters for many days at a time. Practicing the skills learned in the class can be arranged.

But in the scheme of things, I’d really rather own a boat, rather than rent one–especially if any sort of cruising might be in order. (Or, god forbid, an actual crossing!)

Given the pandemic, apparently purchasing a boat is problematic, unless you want to essentially strip and refurbish one from the keel up. (Everyone else has decided that boats are the way to go, too–so the dealers have sold out of pretty much everything that’s ready to go.) All right, if I can’t buy one, can I build my own?

It seems the answer is “Yes.” There are a number of places that sell the plans to build boats of various types and sizes, from canvas-hulled, collapsible rowboats, up to a 45′ steel oceanic cruiser.

One consideration I had was that I’d like the boat to be trailerable. In no small part, this is because I’d be building it at home, a good 2-plus hour drive from the coast, even without hauling a boat. Also, since I’d want to be near home to do any sort of significant maintenance/overhaul, I’d have to get it back & forth. I may save a little in berthing fees in the off-season, or if we should decide to only cruise every other year or so. The trailerable requirement limits the size–I’ve got to be able to haul it, and it has to be “legal trailer width,” which means absolutely no more than 8′ 6″ of beam.

One of the boats I had started looking at was the 22′ Amigo, from Glen-L Designs. This boat is most famous for its appearance on a popular TV show, although most people wouldn’t know that… I figured, though, if Gibbs could build her in his basement, I could build her in my barn.

But a 22′ sailboat doesn’t seem to leave much room for stuff–she’d be an overnighter/weekender, and folks aboard would have to get really friendly, quick. So, I began perusing Glen-L’s catalog, ad saw that they have two “big sisters” to the Amigo, both trailerable; of the two, the 27′ James Cook caught my eye.

Now, I certainly don’t plan to have her built in a day, or a weekend, or even a month. I’ll probably spend weeks, just looking over the plans and instructions. And while my woodworking chops are fair-to-adequate, I’m certain I’ll be learning a host of new techniques during the build. And, of course, other things around the farm take precedence.

As such, I don’t think I’ll be able to launch anything for several years–I’m shooting for six, but things may slide, and that’ll be possible only if things in my Etsy shop really take off.

As things move ahead, I’ve probably set up a Patreon account, for folks to help out (if you like what you see). Not sure just what I can offer, as incentive. Perhaps the chance to help with the build? Maybe day trips, when she’s built? That’s all stuff to be decided.

For now, it’s just dreaming.

Homestead Goals, 2020

As a continuation of my last post, let’s discuss my homestead goals for the upcoming year.

Growing Things

The garden did moderately well in 2019. We harvested bumper crops of onions, did pretty well with peppers, and pulled a sizable number of tomatoes off the vines.  I also got a harvest of elderberries, and did well enough with mulberries and blackberries to satisfy. The tart cherries did well, also, even if they didn’t exceed last year’s haul.

For 2020, my goals include taking a few steps forward in some places, and a few steps back in others. I hope to propagate the elderberries from cuttings over this winter. I also want to grow some nettle along the edge of the woods, and I hope to “borrow” one of the garden beds for grains in the spring.

The rest of the beds will be fallow, this year, excepting the asparagus (as a perennial, it’ll just keep going). The tomatoes weren’t as happy as they could have been, the squash, melons, and cucumbers succumbed again to borers and disease, and the sweet potato slips were choked out by weeds. We’ve decided to let things “rest” for a year or two, mulching and weeding, just to see if conditions there can improve. Another project is beginning to switch from wooden raised beds to modular concrete beds.

Most of the trees will require a bit of pruning over the winter, as well; I hope to get an apple or two in the fall, and I’d like to see the plum trees begin to produce.

Animals

We’re looking at increasing the flock of chickens in the spring; after a hawk strike and some hungry raccoons in late summer, the flock is only about half layers, the rest being “retired” older birds, or soon to be “retired”. I believe we’re looking at a cross between White Leghorns and another breed–with the productivity of the Leghorns, but less flightiness. The goals there are to get back up to a dozen eggs per day, eventually–probably late fall, more likely spring of 2021.

I hope to have the beehives at full capacity, as well. As I’m writing this, in late December, one of the seven hives has collapsed; at least five of the others were active during a warm spell a few days ago. Barring misfortune, I should be able to finish the winter with four good hives, if not more. Considering that I’ve been calling “at least three” a success, I’m optimistic for the season.

Building Things

In addition to the near-endless work inside the house, my goals for the year include at least starting on the outdoor wood-fired oven, and laying the foundation for a smokehouse. The latter will go “upwind” of everything, near the barn; the former will be nearer the house, and will require converting the back patio to a deck, and extending it to the entirety of the pergola area.

When we go to put in the deck, an important aspect will be a ramp for the dogs. Bacchus, in particular, is old (as Pyrenees go), and his hips and knees aren’t working as well as they used to. Steps give him a bit of trouble; if we can get a decent ramp set up for him, he should be able to come and go much easier.

A Full Plate

That really covers our goals for the homestead for 2020.  The deck alone is probably as much as we can handle easily; at least having the foundations for the oven and smoker would be a start. The garden is always a handful; fortunately, the animals can fend for themselves, in large part.

Still, getting the list down where we can see it is a start. It will be interesting coming back to this in a year, and seeing what’s been accomplished.

Final Brew Day of 2019: Kolsch, and Contemplation

Today was the final Brew Day for 2019; I took another stab a a Kolsch, and got a friend started in brewing. I also worked a bit on setting goals for next year.

Kolsch

The brew from today was another stab at the Kolsch kit from Morebeer (available here). I was amused to see that my December Brew Day in 2018 was from the same kit–this was not intentional.

Looking back at my records, last year’s version came out much stronger than intended–basically, I boiled it down to a 4-gallon batch or so, which concentrated things down a bit far. I also felt that it was a little “flabby”–not as dry as it should have been, and it lacked the minerally “pop” that many beers of the style exhibit.

To combat those flaws this time around, I started by being much more careful with the water measurements, resulting in nailing all of my pre- and post-boil volumes. My Original Gravity was 1.052 for a hair over 5.5 gallons of wort–pretty good, when the software predicted 1.054 at 5 gallons. (Compare 1.063 last year, for 4 gallons.)

I also gave the water a little treatment, adding some gypsum, calcium chloride, and citric acid to the mash (2 tsp, 1/2 tsp, and 1 tsp, respectively). The gypsum, chemically Calcium Sulfate, bumps the hardness way up, and makes the hops “pop” a bit. Calcium Chloride does a similar thing, also helping decrease (acidify) the mash. The citric acid also acidifies things; I would have preferred to use lactic acid, which is naturally produced in the malt, but I’m out, at the moment, and didn’t want to make a store run. All of this water chemistry should give the missing “mineral” taste to the Kolsch.

(Also, to clarify, this is a “Kolsch-style German Ale.” “Kolsch” proper is a territorial designation, and only 20 or so breweries from immediately in and around Koln, Germany, can use it properly.)

Anyway, as mentioned, I hit all the numbers, or near enough for Government work. Things looked and smelled lovely, right where they should have been. Once the wort has cooled enough, I’ll pitch the yeast, and about the time I’m kegging the lager from last month, this will go into secondary–and in two months, give or take, it’ll be delightful.

A Friend Indeed

One of my typical brew buddies will be moving away–like, to a different continent away–in five or six months. He’s watched me brew several dozen batches, and finally decided to take the plunge and do one himself. So he hit the Local Homebrew Store on his way home, and has been pelting me with questions via text message.

I’ve been having a good time fleshing out the little details that he hasn’t caught, or hasn’t been around to see (he normally heads home before wort chilling and yeast pitching, to say nothing of racking, secondaries, or kegging). But it has put me in mind of working a better way to teach folks how to brew–hands-on is much better than just watching. Especially with something like brewing, where some of the more critical points happen much later in the process. Things like racking, and secondaries, and kegging…

Goals for Next Year

I’ve got a couple of goals set for next year, both for brewing and for the homestead generally.

I’d like to switch from brewing with propane over to an electric setup. At such time as I can tear down and rebuild the garage, I want a nice, all-stainless, 3-vessel electric HERMS system. But in the meantime, I’m eyeing the Robobrew Brewzilla 65l. It’s a single-vessel system, which isn’t my absolute favorite, but I’m sure I can make it work. In addition to being electric, it’s one of the least expensive 10-gallon capable systems available. (It is, in fact, one of the only 10-gallon systems out there.) While I’ll still be able to do 5-gallon batches, being able to crank up to a 10-gallon batch means I’ll be able to do side-by-side yeast experiments. I’ll also be able to crank out big batches to simplify stocking up for Pennsic. And in a 10-gallon system, I’ll be able to do the really really big beers in 5-gallon batches, which’ll be nice.

Speaking of the big beers, one of the ones I’d like to do would be a Samichlaus clone. I’d wait until December–the traditional time for Samichlaus–so that I’d have enough batches under my belt on the new system to be confident with something that big. (The grain bill for a 5-gallon batch runs to 29 pounds, which is more than my current system can handle by a bit.) Samichlaus runs to 14% abv, and generally is lagered for almost a year before being served–so it would be very much a seasonal thing.

I’d also like to set up a tasting, oriented at folks who don’t know beer that well, and would like to learn more. I got the idea from a post on the HomeBrewTalk forum, and I think arranging it more or less exactly as described there would be fine. I find that teaching this sort of thing to others helps me learn, as well, and can often recharge my interest in the subject.

There are, as I mentioned, household/homestead goals, as well, but they’ll wait for the next post. Until then, cheers!

Passing Times With Good Company

And apologies to Henry the Eighth. (For the uninitiated, the title of this post refers to a drinking song written by the Corpulent King in his younger days, and wildly popular at many a RennFest.)

The Mead Hall

This weekend, I had the great joy of attending an overnight SCA event. This particular event, the Red Mountain Mead Hall hosted by the Shire of Isenfir, started as a mostly brewing-focused event. It has added a fair bit of dance and other artistic happenings, as well as becoming known for its delicious (and sizable!) feasts.

For me, the event was a chance to spend quality time with fellow brewers I don’t get to see often–the event is located near the geographic center of the Kingdom, so attracts people from all over. I also took it upon myself to clear a little clutter from my cellar.

A Miscellany of Bottles

Every brewer, with time, tends to collect a group of bottles of various batches. Makers of meads and wines are particularly bad in this regard. These bottles will usually, for one of a variety of reasons, be un-labeled. (Many of my batches simply don’t get labels; other times, they fall off, or fade.) I brought about twenty bottles, planning on opening them all and doing a “tasting and critique” party.

I generally leave my ego at the door when my brews are being tasted, the more so when I’m not sure what’s going to come out of the bottle. Things ranged from a growler (one of a set of four) that has been sitting full and undisturbed for going on four years, through a variety of unlabeled things of various colors, to the single remaining bottle of a batch of Acerglyn (Maple Mead) that I put together something over a decade ago.

Often Surprising Results

The beverages that emerged from the bottles were almost entirely unexpected. Several were given a resounding “meh.” Some were really good. And only one, really, was bad as such.

The best (and first) surprise was the growler. I had completely forgotten what I had bottled up; the rubber gasket was completely dried out and cracked, and I was certain that the contents would be thoroughly oxidized, if not vinegar. Instead, what poured out was an extremely delightful apple cider. Huge apple on the nose, lovely flavor, and not bone-sucking dry on the finish. The only real complaint was a brief period of “dead space” towards the middle, where the cider was trying to decide what to do next. Clarity was magnificent. All in all, quite lovely, and I’m glad I’ve still got three growlers of it.

The worst surprise, on the other hand, was the “bad” one. The liquid was a clear golden yellow. Decent legs. No sediment. But the aroma was… off, somehow. And the taste–wow.  After pondering just what I had bottled, and what exactly happened to it, it struck me: this was a batch I had made for an acquaintance on something of a dare. Tomato wine. Once I had placed it, the flavor was quite clear (and lingering). From a purely technical standpoint, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. It just… well, it sucked.

Other samples included a bottle of chocolate mead (not ready yet–I’m led to believe that they can take years for the bitterness to mature out), a pair of bottles of Perry (which I brought because I know that’s a good batch), and a red wine that didn’t quite reach its full potential (not bad, but also not great). There were others, but they’re not really all that memorable.

The Exciting Part of the Evening, Sort Of

Having done a fair bit of drinking, obviously no one was in a hurry to drive on home. (Particularly me, as it’s about a 3 hour trip from home.) So we took advantage of the on-site cabins, and racked out for the night.

But it must be mentioned that the cabins are unheated, and while they’re not “open-air,” there are sizable gaps in the walls. And the low for the night was 26 degrees F (that’s negative 3 degrees Centigrade, if you’re doing the math). Indeed, the whole day was quite chilly outside. Fortunately, the Great Hall itself has a large fireplace that was kept roaring all day.

Events like that are when having a Russian persona shows its worth. I was layered up quite nicely (wool socks under the leg wraps; two pair of pants; three shirts–two linen, one wool; a nalbound hood and mantle, and a nalbound hat). Indeed, I had to step out of the hall on several occasions to cool off.

And for sleeping, I had a cold-weather sleeping bag, with a separate fleece liner. Those were atop a wool blanket on doubled mattresses on the bunk, with a small (fake) fur under my head, using my “mundane” clothes rolled up nicely as a pillow. I had another blanket over the top of me, was wearing a T-shirt, long underwear, and socks, and had my hat on my head.

Once again, I found myself almost too warm, and was letting my arms alternate “chilling” in the open air to moderate my temperature. But in the end, I survived, and was relatively comfortable–certainly more so than several of the others attending the event.

Upcoming Brew Day

My next Brew Day will involve a little less mead, and a bit more beer. My friend Cormacc wants to recreate a popular Viking’s Blod mead he’s done in the past; I plan of making an Amber Lager, since the cellar has reached the right temperature range. I’ve also got the makings for a Kolsch-style beer, but that may wait for December (or, possibly, for Spring).

I’ve also got a gaggle of small mead batches that I can tend; assuming I can clear out another fermenter, I may even start a batch of Acerglyn. (Or possibly Berry Melomel. Or something along those lines.) And I’ve a batch of Dark Mild Ale that I have to decide whether to bottle or keg. And then there’s plating up the “wild”/feral yeast I collected from my honey.

But those are topics for next time…

On Making an Estate Mead

One of my goals for a number of years has been the creation of an “Estate Beer”: a batch where all ingredients were grown/gathered from my property. While the way forward is clear, time constraints are significant; so I’ve decided to set that aside for the moment, and focus instead on creating an Estate Mead.

Bees and Honey

My beehives this year have done quite well. I was, frankly, just pleased that my two from last year survived the winter. But not only did they survive, they subsequently swarmed a number of times. I was able to catch most of them, and the apiary has gone from the original two hives to its current six.

Not only that, but they’ve produced an actual honey harvest for the first time. The original two hives got honey supers placed on them; they had to draw all of the comb, which cut back on production a bit, but they still did admirably. The stronger of the two hives gave me a remarkable 57 pounds (or maybe a little more), while the weaker produced over 21 pounds. The full harvest was about 80 pounds.

I’m told that about forty pounds per hive is a typical low average in this area.

Honey and Yeast

Yeast of various sorts is everywhere. Its spores float through the air, and are present on fruits, trees, and other surfaces. In fact, the first wines were undoubtedly fermented by the yeast colonies present on the skins of the grapes. (If you’ve ever seen grapes “in the wild,” there’s a whitish film on the ripe fruits–that is yeast.)

As the bees go about their day gathering nectar and pollen, they necessarily bump into various colonies of yeasts; some of the yeast cells are brought back to the hive, “piggybacking” with the nectar, as it were. And as the bees transform the nectar into honey, the yeast cells remain.

Now, honey is anti-bacterial, and is notoriously “immune” from spoilage. This is a factor purely of the sugar content of the honey. (When making beer, we typically measure the specific gravity–the density–of the wort, and we’re looking for numbers that indicate the liquid is in the vicinity of 6-10% sugar. Honey, on the other hand, isn’t “ripe” until it’s got less than 18% water–almost the exact opposite of the beer.) The osmotic pressure on the various microbes is simply too great; they shut down–either dying completely, or forming dormant spores.

Waking Up the Yeast

Well, if there’s dormant yeast in the honey (and there almost always is), how do we go about waking it? The reason most of it went dormant, recall, is the osmotic pressure–the sheer amount of sugar in solution was too much for it. So, we have to dilute the solution–add water back to it. This will allow the yeast to become active, thrive, and multiply.

I took a couple of ounces of honey, put them in a jar with about four times as much water, and shook it up to mix it. Then I set the jar in a warm place in my kitchen, with a lid on it (to keep out dust and unwanted contamination) loosely (to prevent messy bottle explosions).

Ideally, after a week or so, the various microbes will have come to life, and there will be a number of things growing visibly in the jar. I’m sure there will be various molds on the surface of the liquid–they’re aerobic, and need oxygen-rich environments. But I’m also reasonably confident that a fine layer of yeast sediment will have dropped to the bottom of the jar.

Yeast Wrangling

The yeast will be part of a very mixed culture, with multiple yeast strains, along with lots of bacteria and such. So I’ll have to somehow sort them out.

This is done by plating and isolating the yeast. Essentially, I’ll push the mold surface off to the side (or remove it completely), then take a sterile metal inoculating loop and get a sample of the sediment on the bottom. With the loop, I’ll spread this out in one quarter of a petri dish covered with a growth medium (malt agar). Then I’ll sterilize the loop, and “streak” it through the sample into a clean section of the dish. After repeating this three or four times, the final quadrant will have a number of single microbial cells spread out.

I’ll then put the lid back on the dish, and leave it somewhere undisturbed for a couple of days. During this time, the various single cells will grow up into small colonies of whatever they happen to be. With luck, there will be multiple yeasts–they form round, creamy-colored colonies.

I’ll then take the inoculating loop again, sterilize it, and take samples from several of these colonies, repeating the plating process individually for each of them. After another few days, I should have pure colonies grown from single cells, which I can grow up into starters and use for beer, wine, and mead.

Ifs, Ands, and Buts

There are, of course, caveats to the whole process. First, it’s not at all certain that my initial sample of honey has the right kinds of yeast: there are well north of 100 genera of yeast, covering nearly a thousand species. Not all of them do the things we want (eat sugars, emit alcohol and CO2). Or, they’ll do it, and smell putrid in the process. Or they’ll work well, but be unable to flocculate (drop out of solution). Or any of a number of other things.

I anticipate having to make multiple yeast samples, before finding something I can use. Most of the yeasts in honey are apparently from the Zygosaccharomyces or Schizosaccharomyces  genera; while I can technically use them, they may not be as pleasant as I’d like. Ideally, I’d find one strain or other of “plain” Saccharomyces. There’s a fair chance that it would be a “feral” culture, stemming from one or another batch of my brewing. I’d count that as a win, though–it was still in the honey from my beehives, survived that process, and fought its way through the growing and plating and isolating steps.

How to tell whether I can use the yeast? Well, for the most part, it’s a case of smelling the yeast colonies that have grown on the plates. If they smell good (I’ve heard “honey and mango” descriptors, which would be neat), or at least neutral, they’re candidates.  If they don’t smell good (descriptors include: feet, barnyard, leather, vomit, poo, etc.), then the plate gets dumped and sterilized, and I move on.

Candidates will be grown up in small batches of something–likely mead, since that’s what I’m trying to select for; simple wort is another choice. I’ll have to boil the liquid, to eliminate as much competition as possible. (This favors the use of beer wort, since it’s almost by definition been boiled.) I’ll grow up the cultures in 100mL beakers, then transfer them to 500mL, then 1000mL, and finally to a 3000mL flask on a stir plate. Once things have progressed through that step, I’ll be able to “bank” some of the strain (a separate process, with a separate post), and use the remainder to start a batch of mead.

Of course, again, at any point in the process, things could go awry with a given batch, and I’ll have to dump it. that’s just the nature of things; I’ll have to deal with it when I get there.

In the meantime, as I go from step to step, I’ll document the process here. Please stick with it!

(Valuable details, instructions and ideas for this process have been acquired from the Denard Brewing website and the forums at Homebrewtalk.com. Please visit them all, and show them some love!)

The Consequences of Inattention

We should file this under “from every life, a little brew must be dumped.”

I’ve got a cellar. I store things down there. Completed/bottled brews; conditioning kegs; empties of all sorts. Also things undergoing long fermentations, or bulk-aging.

It’s those latter that are… well, persnickety. They tend to have airlocks. The thing about airlocks is that they require maintenance. Periodic top-offs of water, to keep the bad things from getting in.

If you neglect that over a period–like, say, since about this time last year, maybe longer–you’ll find that your brews have, at best, oxidized. At worst, they’re developing pellicles. Nice if you’re souring a beer, but not so much if you’re not. (And when you’re developing a pellicle, it needs to be the right kind–not fuzzy, but spongy. More like mother-of-vinegar.) Regardless, they’ve become bad brews.

So, this weekend just past, while working on the underside of the kitchen (putting in insulation; this required passing repeatedly through the cellar), I took it upon myself to deal with several of the carboys. So far, I’ve dumped and cleaned four 5-gallon carboys of various liquids. One of them might have been saved, possibly–but really, at that point, the simplest route was just to dump it.

Remaining is one 5-gallon carboy, and four 2.5-gallon carboys. All full. All at various points of bad. I’ll work on the rest of them over the next few days, and I fully intend to develop a monitoring schedule, to keep on top of things, so this doesn’t happen again.

Other Not Bad Brews

Meantime, the beehives have done their thing, and reproduced like crazy this season. I went from two hives in the fall, to six hives right now. Of the four new ones, three are in regular Langstroth hives, and one is in a top-bar. The two “old” hives have produced some honey, and I’ll be harvesting (“collecting the rent”) this weekend–probably extracting the honey next week.

My theoretical maximum harvest this year is about 120 pounds. (I’ve got three medium honey boxes on the hives; they can store a maximum of about 40 pounds each.) I don’t think I’ll get nearly that much; 35-40 pounds is much more likely. It might reach to 50, depending on a number of factors (they’ve been bringing in stores from somewhere, I just don’t know how much), which would tickle me to no end. We’ll see just how it goes.

There have also been several other brews initiated, in the last few months. I’ve done a Blackberry Stout that I think will be quite nice. I started an IPA using the Voss Kveik strain; when it went into the keg, it was delicious. Waiting impatiently to see how it is, once it’s carbonated. And a variety of meads are in process, not least of which is an experimental braggot I did, using the lees from the kveik, the leftover beer from the IPA, and 3 pounds of honey.

I’m also looking at converting 2 gallons of one of the more “normal” meads into something that I can give to the King & Queen of Atlantia, either for personal use, or to gift others as largesse. It seems that adding a handful of Thai Butterfly Pea flowers will give a burst of color to the brew–said color depending on the pH of the liquid. Most meads run about 3.5 or so, which imparts a reddish-purple color. Adding a little potassium carbonate will bump the pH up to about 4.0, which should turn the mead to a delightful blue, without harming the flavor overly much. And blue is, after all, one of the Kingdom’s colors…

The Family Tree of Fermented Drinks

Most people aren’t familiar with the family tree of the various adult beverages we drink. They don’t always group together quite the way you’d think, and I think it’s worth a quick look.

The Three Main Families

By and large, fermented drinks break down into three basic families: Beers, Wines, and Meads. The separating factor is the source of the sugars for the yeast to ferment. It looks something like this:

Fermented Drink Family Tree, "Primary Colors"
“Primary Colors” of fermented drinks

Basically, if the sugars are broken out from starches–generally from grains–you’re looking at a beer.

If the sugars are from fruits, it’s wine.

If they’re from honey, it’s mead.

Bad Naming Practices

These classifications can lead to some confusion, mostly rooted in what I’ll call “alternative modern naming.”  Mead, for instance, is often called “honey wine.” While that gets the point across to someone who is unfamiliar, it’s less than completely accurate. Mead is mead; no more, no less.

Similarly, sake is commonly called “rice wine.” The base of sake is rice, which is to say, starch. This is broken down by aspergillium fungi into sugars; the sugars are then fermented by saccharomyces species. Being starch-based, it’s therefore not a wine, but a beer.

Then there are the issues of things that have developed their own names: cider, particularly, and its lesser-known cousin perry. Most people would separate them out as their own individual things–but they’re from pressed fruit, and thus wines. Yes, they’re particular types of wine–but they’re still wine.

Hybrids

As with the color wheel we all remember from grade-school art class, it is possible to take these “primary colors” of drinks and blend them into new “colors.” For example, if you make meads that include fruit sugars, you have what are known as “melomels.” And within the melomels, there are particular names depending on the fruit. Apples get you cyser; grapes get you pyment. Pears are perry, which is also the name for pear cider, which is confusing. There are dozens of others.

Conversely, a cross between beer and mead is called “braggot.” These are typically big, malty, strong drinks. They’re usually hopped, but it’s not absolutely necessary for the style. Brewer’s choice as to what the “base” beer style is, as well–although matching them with different honeys is a bit of an art form.

Crossing beer with fruit gets a fruit beer. There’s not really a better name for them, unfortunately… With the fruit beers, the mix tends to skew heavy on the “beer” side. I can’t recall ever seeing a “wine with malt added;” I should think that getting that right would be tricky. (Note to self: do some small-batch experimentation with this…)

Then there’s what you get when you mix all three “primary types,” the mysterious middle of the triangle. Colors tend to get muddy here, and if you just toss drinks together willy-nilly, they will too. But there are commercial beverages that go this direction. Midas Touch is one, as is Chateau Jiahu, both by Dogfish Head. Historically, we think that the Beor of the sagas and legends was likely also a three-way mix.

Extending Past the Ferment

Interestingly, we tend to carry the distinctions between beverages into their distillations, as well. Scotch, Whiskey, and Bourbon are all distilled from grains. Brandy is distilled from fruit. I don’t know of any large-scale mead distillation, but the term for its product would be “honeyshine.” Beyond that, unfortunately, my knowledge of distilled products is limited.

A Hole in the Taxonomy

There’s one area that my taxonomy doesn’t cover. What do you call it if the drink is fermented from plant sugars, other than the fruit? For instance, if maple syrup was your primary sugar source? Or (gods forbid) cane sugar? Molasses? Treacle?

I’m tempted to lump these in with meads, mostly as a placeholder for now. (This due to the relative similarity between honey, syrup, and molasses.) I don’t know of anybody fermenting them on a large scale. Moonshiners, perhaps, in the case of cane sugar. Rum is the distillation of fermented cane sugar and/or molasses (and other sugarcane byproducts); following the “beer-whiskey, wine-brandy, mead-honeyshine” pairing above, either rum is a subset of honeyshine, or the fermented plant juices are their own category. If the latter, they’re mostly separate from the “big three.”

To Beor or not to Beor

In researching more about medieval drinking vessels, I’ve backed into a thorny issue: what, exactly, was beor/bjorr,  as written about in various Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon sources?

The Background

I’ve been looking at more old drinking vessels, with the intent of trying to reproduce them for my Etsy shop. Again, with some of them, I was struck by their size–specifically, how oddly small many of them are. I have previously mentioned the Jelling Cup, at two inches in height. There are also “Sutton Hoo bottles” (pictured below). They also clock in at two inches or less.

Sutton Hoo bottles
Sutton Hoo bottles; the originals are bottom center.

Even the somewhat larger bottles from Sutton Hoo are “only” five or so inches:Large Sutton Hoo bottle

There was commentary online to the effect that whatever they were drinking from these vessels, it was likely strong. But what, pray tell, was it?

Strong Drink

A minute or two of playing with Google led me to a mention of there being debate in academic circles as to the nature of a particular “Viking drink,” generally described as strong, sweet, and rarer/more valuable than other drinks.

I’ll spare the entirety of the argument (one of the most cogent discussions I’ve found is this paper, by Christine Fell); in short, most sources we have in Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon describe four types of alcoholic drink: win (wine), mjod (mead), ealu (ale), and beor/bjorr.  What is beor? Most modern translations take the easy way out, and gloss it to beer, but that doesn’t seem right.

These writings are, almost without exception, from before the ale/beer distinction came about. (These are texts from before 1200AD; the English didn’t start differentiating until the 1400’s or so.) Pretty much everything at the time would have been what we’d classify as “ale.”

Also, a good case can be made that beor wasn’t grain-based, which again rules out beer.  So, it’s not wine, it’s not mead, it’s not ale, and it’s not beer… What could it be?  A plausible hypothesis is cider–or, at least, something cider-like. Apparently, in Normandy the word “bere” is used for cider. Depending on the provenance of the word, there’s a certain something there.

Beor’s Not Quite Cider

But even going with cider, some hurdles appear. Anglo-Saxon, at least, has a term for cider (aepplewin). And beor appears to have been sweetened (read Fell’s tract, above, for the reasoning). Perhaps a backsweetened cider? Again, plausible…

I certainly don’t claim to have the answers–I’ve only been devoting a little spare time to the topic for the last several days, really. I’m fine with it being a “strong, backsweetened fermented juice drink,” as far as that gets us. A thought did strike me that they could have “jacked” (freeze-distilled) a fruit drink, then sweetened it with honey to make it more palatable. I’m tempted to say we’d have some description somewhere of the process, though, and we don’t.

So where does that leave us?  As with so many things involved in period brewing, with more questions than answers. What are your thoughts on beor, readers? Let’s discuss them in the comments1

Kolrosing and Silver

I recently spent a lovely evening discussing, among other things, the art of Kolrosing. It was at the (Unofficial) Northern Atlantian Arts and Sciences meeting, which apparently happens monthly, although I had somehow not heard of it before last week. It was a small crowd–names withheld 1) to protect the guilty, and 2) because I’m terrible with names, and can’t remember them all to save my life. But it was lively, and chatting was fun.

Kolrosing

While discussions wandered through various topics, Kolrosing was the theme of the evening. Kolrosing is an ancient art for decorating wood, involving incising a design, rubbing a colored powder into the incisions, then oiling the lot of it. The oil causes the wood to swell slightly, “grabbing” the powder, and creating as permanent a design as I’ve been able to find.

For a powder, I’ve seen cinnamon and coffee used most often. Historically, the inner bark of some trees were used–birch, for example. I could see walnut making a fine contrast against maple or birch. Powdered charcoal was also popular. Last night, I used some powdered roast barley, which worked fine. I have a notion to sand some honey locust down to a fine powder, and use it; while it wouldn’t contrast much against the background wood, locust fluoresces under blacklight, which could make for some interesting “magic rune” effects.

The oil used can be just about any light-colored oil that won’t go rancid–although I know of olive oil being used, in a pinch. My go-to is Boos Block Oil, but any other brand, or even a straight mineral oil, would certainly work.

After a light application of some fine sandpaper, it’s impossible to tell that the design wasn’t part of the wood to begin with; the only way to remove it would be to sand to the depth of the incision. I describe it as “tattooing” the wood.

Kolrosing on the Trossingen LyreWhere is kolrosing used? The oldest example I know of is the Trossingen Lyre, dating from the late 500’s AD. While the kolrosing is difficult to see on the original, it’s definitely there.

Kolrosing was also popular among the Saami of Finland, for decorating things such as bone needle cases and the like. And in modern times, spoons and kuksas, popular among the bushcrafting crowd, are often intricately decorated with kolrosing. And it’s the technique I’ve been using to inscribe stanzas from the Poetic Eddas around the rims of the cups I’ve been turning for my shop.

Silver

If you follow my Facebook feed, you’ve seen the other medium I’m playing with lately: silver wire inlay. I’ve got a couple of goals with the silver, ultimately. I’d like to have a line of cups and bowls in the shop with a wire inlay around the rim. Against walnut or cherry, the silver really “pops.” And in a candlelit room, that gleam off of the silver just seems to add a certain something.

My other goal is to do some inlay on flat pieces. I have a notion to do a Hnefatafl board (similar to a chessboard), with the decorations (knotwork designs) and squares outlined with silver inlay.

Oddly, the “inlay” technique for the cups and the “flat” pieces is different. The cups use round silver wire, which is glued down into a groove cut in the cup as it’s turned. After the glue (typically super-glue) sets, final sanding is done to remove any excess glue, and buff/burnish the silver. This technique puts a horizontal ring around the cup.

The other inlay technique, seen most frequently on gunstocks and knife handles, involves cutting a groove in the wood, then (relatively lightly) hammering a ribbon of wire into the groove edgewise. Glue is supposedly optional. I’m told that if done right, the glue isn’t necessary; if not done right, the glue won’t help. Then the standard sanding and finishing is done.

It looks simple enough in principle, but I’m sure there are subtleties to it that the various online tutorials don’t go into. I can say for certain that there are things not mentioned doing the cup inlay. First and foremost, make sure the wood is bone-dry prior to gluing in the wire. Otherwise, the shrinkage will change the cup’s diameter, and the (suddenly too-long) wire will pop out. I’ve been using “thin” CA glue; a switch to “medium,” or even “thick,” might help–experimentation is in order.

While I’ve been messing about some with the cup inlay, I’m really looking forward to trying out the flat inlay. The design options are much greater. I do have an ulterior motive for wanting to “level up” on it, a little–but I’ll have to save that for a future post, as I’d like to keep it something of a surprise. If things work out as I hope, in addition to turning, there will be a combination of round and flat inlays. (Also perhaps some wood ebonizing–a fascinating technique for another time, when I’m feeling a bit more alchemical.)