(OR, APPRECIATING YOUR KID DIGGING IN THE YARD)
I introduced my new old house a few weeks ago, and some of the brewing history that I’ve stumbled upon related to it.
My circa 1900 farmhouse seems a little more interesting than my previously owned Raleigh townhouse. Still, the kind, young school teacher that bought it might be interested to learn of all the delicious brews that were concocted there. Or not.
Regardless, a little touch of history can be found anywhere, and I always find it interesting. My boys have spent time digging under the porch, and while the bits of tools, metal and old tin cans have been fascinating, their archaeology didn’t get cool until they unearthed a rusty, old Blatz specimen.
A tin can opened upside down with a church key, this can made me long for my own beer can collection, itself lost to time. Short on space in my college days, I’d stored my garage sale-acquired cans, several large boxes worth, in my girlfriend’s dad’s workshop. Time passed, as did that relationship, and I never recovered them.
Hopefully one day someone discovers and appreciates and ponders my lost treasure. In the meantime, I’ll appreciate this one measily can.