The Word for “Made-Up” Time
COLUMBIA, Pa. — I never gave much thought to the word “passage.”
The Cow Without a Smile
COLUMBIA, Pa. — Here is a manufactured innocence that I see quite clearly, but have failed to relinquish completely. Growing up, we would say that our veins and arteries carried iced tea. We joked the convenience stores were blood banks. We transfused ourselves after a three-mile run. We transplanted our broken adolescent hearts with ice cream scoops.
An Early Morning Hike
COLUMBIA, Pa. — Every sentence is always inadequate, so a fear of failure has never paralyzed me. That’s not what makes writing difficult. It’s the possibility of success that strikes me as terrifying. What if I succeed? What if, during one of these early-morning moments, the seamless expression of an adjacent world materializes? How do I live with myself?
A Tour of James Buchanan’s Wheatland
LANCASTER, Pa. — Cross the threshold. Say where you’re from. Follow your guide, dressed in period costume, to the left. This was James Buchanan’s dining room. Here’s a list of foods that people in his time would have eaten for dinner: turkey, cranberry sauce, green beans.
Tranquility, War, Winter, Guilt, Tranquility
LANCASTER, Pa. — It seems unfair, if not unjust, to find tranquility among deserted buildings and desolate paths.
Baja Brewing and the Intervention of San Lucas
SAN JOSE DEL CABO, MEXICO — Tell people you’re going to Los Cabos, and they assume you’ll be sitting poolside at a resort, with a frozen cocktail in one hand and a magazine in the other.
A Poem for Sam’s Man Cave, Lancaster, Pennsylvania
LANCASTER, Pa. — A poem for the owner of this Lancaster County institution.
A Yearning for Wild Yeast at the Arrowood Farms Brewery
ACCORD, N.Y. — Collecting yeast isn’t like tracking a wild animal. If anything, the process is less about capturing the yeast than receiving it.
Portland, Maine: A Local Recommends
PORTLAND, Maine — Got one day in Portland, Maine? Not sure what to do? Neither did we. To be honest, I kind of assumed I’d never actually go to Maine.
The First Week of Self Employment
BLUEMONT, Va. — My mien is affected. I smuggle a smile inside an unworthy worry wrapped in a burning desire. I’m happy and nervous. Wherever I abode, ordinary living has no hold on me. Uniform expectation and obligation cause me to doze. These hills are high enough to make the air feel fresh. I’m with friends and a lover. I’m free.
On Our Way to the Pocono Mountains
BETHLEHEM, Pa. — We three unwise ones stop in Bethlehem. / Hurrah! Hurrah! We’re going to a wedding. / We stop at Fegley’s Brew Works. We drink a round of beers.
Attending the AHA’s 35th Annual National Homebrewers Conference
PHILADELPHIA — I left work and went straight to Union Station. By the time I got to my hotel room in Philadelphia, it was like I’d landed on the moon, that’s how far away I felt from D.C. I went immediately to bed and woke the next morning, startled. I slept so soundly I hadn’t heard my alarm go off. Then it came to me …
The Delicate Matter of Traveling with Other Couples
SHEPHERDSTOWN, W. Va. — I enjoy a good gimmick. The Bavarian Inn, which is designed to evoke a small village in southern Germany, is as good as a gimmick gets. It works because we’re in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. If this were Las Vegas, the gimmick would be too much, go too far. It’d be a hotel-casino called “Munich, Munich.”
When The Dead Don’t Speak and the Living Won’t
ARLINGTON, Va. — I am told I may discern the fragmentation of the universe by observing how boulders become rocks, how rocks crumble to pebbles, pebbles to dust. They mean for me to remove myself from society and live alone among nature (a la Tu Fu or Wittgenstein) where I will surely understand how time expands and the horizon grows in a way that approximates the infinite.
On the Ride Home, a Stop in Delaware
GEORGETOWN, Del. — Pictured here is a man with a case of beer on his birthday. He is on his way home after a weekend in Cape May, where he spent the weekend with his love.
Where He Learned to Say “Fuck”
CAPE MAY, N.J. — When she chose the destination as a birthday surprise, she chose well. He used to come here as a child. To the town, not the brewery. In fact, to visit the brewery is a corrective.
One of Many Baltimores
BALTIMORE — A place you can’t touch has a name, but it’s more an idea than a place. You can’t hold Baltimore in your hand, for instance. Not the way you can hold this glass of beer in your hand. You can’t taste Baltimore the way you can taste the beer in this glass.