A pleasant chill has fallen over not-quite Amish Country. The trees have barely begun to change (the first killing frost is a few days off yet), but there is an unmistakable feel of fall in the air.
The smell of fires in the fireplaces. The dry dust of the first dead plants. The slow drying of the air itself. The first harbingers of the Canadian winds. The passing of the equinox. The dark green of the mountain forests turning slightly (but perceptibly) lighter. All signs of the change.
A good change. Autumn and winter comprise the peak homebrewing season. Temperatures in the house should keep ale between 65 and 75 degrees, the range where top-fermenting yeast does its duty best. In the summer, my stuff often ferments at temperatures higher than 80 degrees. This can lead to somewhat inconsistent brews, though to be honest, I haven't really noticed much of a problem. But no matter. Mr. Steve (my brewing guru and operator of the local homebrew shop) says he always gets more business as the temperatures drop.
This is my second year of brewing, and I'm getting a bit more adventurous. A cider is sitting in a new fermenter. Glass, no less. I spend hours just watching the yeast dance and the carbon dioxide bubbles swim around. The brew is gonna sit there for the next three months. Ciders take a good long while. And when my cider is done, I'm gonna try out a mead. A sparkling mead (real mead is uncarbonated, and I'm not so sure I'm ready for that), next on my specialty to-brew list.
But even with the happiness that autumnal brewing brings, the real joy of this seasonal change is simply the wonderful temperatures. I like walking around in t-shirts and jeans, wondering if I need a jacket. Unless the temperatures dip into the 40s, I don't worry too much. The cool air on my skin is invigorating. I feel reborn. Renewed. Completely refreshed from the drudgery of the summer sweats.
Sweat in the fall. Ahhh, now that feels good. It doesn't cling, it doesn't sit around and get clammy. The air is lower in humidity and sweat just wisps away. I love the outdoors in the fall. Terribly comfortable and comforting. A change that feels good.
As the onset of fall also corresponds to the beginning of the school term, I still instinctively feel like fall is the time for new beginnings. New experiences. A new life. I know, my last fall semester came around seven years ago, but I'm a critter of habit. I can't help the way this brisk air makes me feel.
And, as I noted before, fall brings rings in the beer season. Oktoberfest beers originated in Germany (duh). In the olden days they were brewed toward the end of the winter and stored (lagered) in ice caves for the duration of the summer. And then, as the change would grip the land, these fine brews were brought forth in celebration of natures bounty. And to give the brewers time to get the brewing apparatus into full swing. Today there's something called refrigeration, which kinda negates the whole purpose of Oktoberfest, but really, why mess with a good thing?
While the Puritans did drink, our nation doesn't have a similar tradition for Thanksgiving. It should, I think, and I often plow through a brew or two with the turkey (or ribs, my personal favorite holiday meal). Offer up a toast for my bounty. With a beer. Why not?
Why not, indeed. As a descendent of German immigrants, I am always happy at this time of year to hoist a few. There isn't a better way to celebrate one's cultural heritage than by the sipping of the sacred nectar. Okay, so it's the rare occasion that I'm not in the mood to fill my glass. Doesn't matter. Where ceremony dictates the quaffing of the brew, I am more than happy to oblige. There are some traditions worth saving for the benefit of future generations.
And anyway, weather like this is always worth celebrating with a brew or few.
Jon Worley is enjoying his second autumn in York County, Penn.