A couple of years ago--because I'm like that guy on The Outlaw Josey Wales with the piece of rock candy--I bought a bottle of mead. I like mead, or I think I do. I tried it once at a food show. The lady asked if I wanted to try some wine and my grandma, who is a foodie and sample person, convinced me I wanted to try every sample in the place. I hate wine. I don't like the astringency.
But, wow--I loved Volcano Honey Wine. It didn't have any kind of bitter taste and it came from my favorite place on earth--Volcano, Hawaii. Turns out honey wine is mead, and I had these horrible memories of making mead when I was a kid. Same way I made every cowboy bean recipe when I grew out of Robin Hood and into the Sacketts.
There's a meadery maybe thirty miles from here, and I love the way they package the mead and it's color. It's a deep ruby and when you hold it up to the light the world is beautiful and rosy. Raspberry mead. I have occasional thoughts about drinking it, but it was a limited edition, I'm not a drinker and I'd feel funny drinking by myself.
The other day I was sitting out on my balcony, watching the snow come down on the deeply forested Cascades. I feel comfortable here. It's like I stepped through a time warp and ended up thirty years ago in a time when people didn't lock their doors, there's a one screen movie theater with a soda machine in the lobby and going to the library--right in the middle of town--is a big deal. I only wish gas was a little cheaper. I might live in the boonies, but I still work in town.