Brewing, a Curious Hobby

On new years eve I embarked on the labor intensive, yet sometimes rewarding folly of brewing. Results have been mixed. Eight months in, I've had as many batches go foul as I've had go through my kidneys. The act of brewing my own beer has the same appeal for me as catching a fish I will later eat, or maintaining a garden. It's some strange survivalist hold over from the days when man was not blessed with McDonald's or adult onset diabetes. It's an ambition I've been milling over since the lakes thawed this spring and I got the itch to throw a line in the water. This itch has gotten itchier with age. Having grown up on what was once the premier walleye lake in the state I had ample opportunity to take the outdoors for granted for the bulk of my formative years. Now, sitting in the suburbs getting puffy on homebrew, I understand why all those city folks were beating a path to the northwoods every weekend. It's the same drive the keeps me boiling wort long into the night like some modern day Friar Tuck. Only his malted barley came from god, and mine is from Northernbrewer.com