Mason and his new puppy above. My sleepy puppy here.
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Some days, you simply cannot escape the idiocy in the world. Overnight, someone at the NOC did something incredibly stupid (and for which I still do not have an adequate explanation). Today, someone told me that our interpretation of his explanation was “out of whack” – except that he never explained anything in particular, despite questions phrased in multiple ways to him so we could try to figure out just what the hell he was trying to do. Someone else wanted to know our price on something, even though we tracked her visit to our pricing page, where things are clearly outlined. Since I didn’t get to bed until after 5 this morning, then got back up just after 8, not a good day for the old balance of the mood. Not exactly Paul Revere warning of the British arrival, but exciting in its own way: we received a confirmed ship date for our bees of mid-May. On the same day we received that notice, we received seeds I’d ordered specifically for the bees. Serendipity. I plan to have have nectar-producing plants going full blast by the time they get here and we get them settled into their homes so they will immediately be able to get to work building out their comb so the queen can start laying (of course, we will be feeding them for a bit when they first arrive, too, to help things along). It’s going to be like counting down the days the Christmas around here. I’ve been working on Mt. Mulch in the rear garden. Mt. Mulch is the truck full of mulch that we had someone deposit on the grounds in order to mulch in the paths in the various gardens and around the trees. The first load, which was up front, I had some help to finish off from family. This time, it’s only me hacking away at it. It’s good exercise, really, but it takes a toll on your traps, from squeezing together armfuls of it to toss into the wheelbarrow. Why pick it up by hand? Have you ever tried using a shovel on a big pile of mulch? That’s a one way ticket to exhaustion and sore everything (and lots of cursing). It’s faster to do it by hand. The only downside is that while the top of the pile is dry, it’s wet under that layer, making it a chore to carve out a chunk to move to the barrow. Goal: six barrows a day loaded, dumped, and spread, in order to get the back garden finished. That’s about the limit my morning shake gives me in terms of calories/energy, but it works out well since I can generally get one eight foot long section mulched at about an inch per barrow load- which in turn gives me one full row done on the long side of the garden. It’s a lot of mulch, but I only have four rows left, plus the large non-row area where there is currently nothing but which I’m considering for containers. I should be able to finish the mulching of the back area this week and then move on to the berries on the easterly fenceline to get those done. After the daily loads, it was dog shaving time, something I did in bare feet on the front porch instead of getting dog hair in my boots and socks. They’re so cute with their cuts, but I suspect they were pooped after the excitement/stress of it all. Tomorrow: more mulching. More flats to go under the lights. More something else. There’s always something else. Of football! AFC and NFC championship games, both of which went down to field goals. The Patriots squeak in on a missed field goal, after a rather lackluster performance by Brady. That was followed by a very messy game in San Francisco that went into overtime, with the Giants finally coming out on top after the second muffed punt by the 49er’s return man (Williams) gave them a short field (again). It’s going to be a great SuperBowl game. I hope. Bottling day at the ranch for the German style lager we brewed. Started on Monday, completed Saturday night. Not too bad, as far as hobbies go, and much of the week was spent waiting – as is the case for most things around here, like waiting for dough to rise, or seeds to germinate, or something to ripen, or a canvas to dry. When the bees finally arrive and are hived, we’ll start the waiting game with them, too. Step one: siphoning.
As it turns out, this is better with two people, so one can hold the siphon while the other pours in the priming sugar (and takes photos). It’s a dark beer.
Very dark, to the point where a flashlight comes in handy to see the bottom of the siphon to make sure it isn’t embedded in the gunk at the bottom.
The bucket fills as the carboy empties.
And eventually it’s down to the last that we’re taking out.
Time to bottle!
Capping. Take a cap, center the capping tool over it.
Lean into it and push the handles down until they crimp the cap on the bottle.
Release.
Repeat. Forty-nine times. Before you know it, you have a couple of cases of beer, ready to go into the cold room to age.
Then comes the cleanup.
I wonder if the chickens would like to nibble on this. Would they get themselves a buzz going? Ever wonder about that phrase? Wonder no more.
Bottling bucket, spigot, siphons, bottles, and caps, all washed and ready to be sanitized Saturday. Also known as: bottling day. Before bottling, though, there are a number of other things that have to be done, primarily outside. Unlike our neighbors to the north, it’s going to be rather balmy here for the next week or so, with temps in the mid to upper 70s. Winter in Florida. Have to love it. Almost. As I mentioned the other day, I started a batch of beer. It took a few hours for the yeasties to get their gobble on, but when they did, the airlock was bubbling away.
All the crap around the neck is where the foam went pretty high in the carboy. It settled into percolation quite nicely, seen in the foamy activity at the top. Yesterday, things slowed down a bit, and today, they’ve slowed down a lot – an indication that the yeast has done its business and belched out alcohol from the sugars it ate.
The foaming is almost completely stopped, and there is just the occasional bubble hitting the airlock. Sniffing the top of the airlock, you can smell the alcohol quite clearly. On Friday, I’ll wash and sanitize the bottling bucket, bottles, and caps, then transfer this into the bucket (with the priming sugar). Saturday: bottling time. Once bottled, we’ll store the beer away for a few weeks to age. I suspect there may be a tasting of fresh beer here at the ranch. In the name of research, of course.
It’s been a grey, dreary day here. If we lived anywhere else, it would be a wintry day, or what we used to call a snow day when we lived up north. Except here in the south, it was mostly just rainy for a good portion of the day and overcast when the rain moved along. It was just one of those days where you want to curl up under a blanket with a good book. I sorted seeds and looked at some more seed catalogs (and worked) instead. And just to remind myself of what comes from all the hard work I put in on the ranch…
This was a late summer harvest – ok, it was in the latter part of October, but around here, that counts. I’m not able to munch on jalapenos like I used to, but that’s true of almost everything I grow around here.
There’s just something reassuring about being able to put up the fruits (and veggies) of your labor.
First you clean.
Then you put together your ingredients, get the mix into the carboy, pitch your yeast, put the airlock on, and wait for it to ferment.
It didn’t do much, at first. I was hanging out, checking on it now and again, to see if it would start bubbling away, but finally gave up and went to bed. At about 3 AM, I woke up to the smell of malty bread, and figured the little beasties were doing their magic. After a few days, the action should calm down, and we’ll move the brew into the bottling bucket. Why brew your own beer? Why not? I can’t drink it, of course, since the radiation treatments did the tango on my mouth, but others can (and hopefully they won’t be poisoned by some stray bacteria missed during the sanitation or that sneaks in during the process).
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