2018 Northern Spy

I hate bottling. Maybe I just hate what it represents - the end of something.

Before bottling, the ciders dance in our cellar. They breathe. They move and age and change.  I can pull from any barrel, whenever I want, and throw it in someone’s glass.

I hate bottling because it’s the end of that.

Last year I was late ordering corks for the Spy. I drove around the County scrounging what I could. Thirty corks here, fifty there. Then Battista gave me a whole bag.

I hate bottling, but I love this town.