There’s so much more to a napkin than wiping up a spill.
They are pure potential. In addition to their day job, they bear good news, promise. To-do lists. Expedition plans. Phone numbers. And maps.
A quickly scribbled map came my way over the weekend via a thoughtful individual aware of my beery life. It contained a tiny town, three roads, a river and an X marking the spot where the wild hops grow. Though a little late for this year’s harvest or use, I set out this morning to locate this secret spot.
I passed by the has-been town where my gramps played ball, the placed he tethered his horse while at school, the place he courted my granny. I passed fields with longhorn cattle. I passed pastures aplenty. And with no trouble, I found the hops. With the old days on my mind on these country roads, I wondered how they came to be, how long they’d been here, if they’d been used for brewing.
There will be an answer to the third question next year, as I’ll return and see to it that they work toward their noble and intended purpose. And if I should spill that hoppy pint of abundant glory, I’ll reach for a napkin, because they really are splendid for use in mundane tasks, as well as mapping out treasure hunts.