(Ed. Note: Once in a great long while I will feature a guest writer. This doesn’t happen much anymore as I’m not really hurting for content. That said, earlier in the summer, my Mom texted me a picture of the hop coir she had bought for next season’s crop of Centennial hops. When she said she had planted hops, I assumed it might be a couple of decorative rhizomes. The almost whole pound of Centennial I have in my freezer says different. I had but one question: “Why.” That’s not exactly true. I have a second question, which is “Ok, then what?” but I have the feeling that’s going to result in investment in a Blichmann pilot system and trips to Barn Owl Malting. Before we get to that point, she has gracefully offered to write a little about the process.)

Sometimes, Jordan phones me and says “I have a question” Usually it is something like “how long do I cook a ham?’ or ‘does this need polysporin?’ or some other simple life hack. Sometimes it is more challenging. This time it was quite existential. ‘Why would a 72 year old woman decide to grow hops?’

I suppose there are a lot of parts to the answer.

First, you need to understand about WOB World. Jordan has been either blessed or cursed with very eccentric parental units. To see the development of this, and if you are a reader of the blog of long standing you may remember the blog post of long ago wherein the teenaged Jordan learned about Weird Old Broads. We have not become more centrist as time has gone along. In fact the oddness may now be worse.

Second, there is always a gentle sense of competition going on. I have drunk Heady Topper from the can. I knew about the band Coldplay before he did. And so forth. We send back and forth Facebook pictures and messages of various beer drinking locations. Look here: The guinness warehouse in Dublin. The Brooklyn Brewery. The Wallace, with wings and Side Launch. Oh, look, the Von Trapp Brewery.

Childish, but amusing.

Third, the history of brewing goes back to the days of the Swansea Brew it yourself location. One used to be able to reserve a lovely copper kettle, brew with ones own wort, pitch the yeast, add the hops according to their wonderful old recipe book. And bottle yourself. I hesitate to say in public how old Jordan and his brother were at the first bottling but it is sufficient to note they were better at it than the groups of twenty something men who were doing the same thing. We brewed a Czech Pilsner in quantity sufficient for the Sunnybrook resident softball game and picnic. It was good.

Over time I came to like the American IPA and double IPA style best. Black coffee, straight gin, 60 minute IPA and Rogue double Dead Guy. Now Lawson’s Sip of Sunshine. Black Oak Ten Bitter Years was a favourite for years when it was available. So the magic ingredient was hops. I like hops.

Then you need to know that we moved recently from a beloved old house in Kingston to a much newer one, but with acres of garden to be cared for, planted and mowed. Since I have essentially a black thumb when it comes to plants, I was assigned mostly the mowing. After all, I did once water a fake orchid.

That did not stop me from having some notions about things we might grow. I want apple trees and that might be next spring’s activity. I thought we might grow hops. The mowing is all very well, don’t get me started on why a 72 year old woman’s second best friend is a John Deere mower. Or how much fun it is to plot out the pattern of mowing this week. Or why I cannot possibly get a straight pattern in the grass with all those damned trees. But mowing is like housework. Iterative. re-iterative.

The notion of hops as a domestic plant came from a time some years ago when we stayed at the Bar Convent in York England. The Convent, now being short of nuns, uses a part of the building as hotel. On that Sunday, in the garden, beautifully draped over the gate were hops. It was in the fall, in fact it was Battle of Britain Sunday. Sitting in the garden then was Sister Agatha, who recollected as a child lying on the roof of her father’s house with his batman watching the planes go over from the aerodrome. The hops seemed a good thing to be growing over her seat.

Last August Jordan was kind enough to include me in some of his activities and we made a visit to Pleasant Valley hop yard in Prince Edward County, a huge wonderful commercial enterprise and they offered to sell me a few rhizomes in the spring. We chose Centennial because they do well in our climate and are quite forgiving. So in May I went off to purchase 15 rhizomes of Centennial hops.

They are funny looking things, rhizomes. Sort of gnarly and unpromising.

We had asked our carpenter to build a kind of pergola in the fenced in garden and after some delay, which we feared might have resulted in deceased rhizomes, they were duly planted.

And they grew! Ran up the strings, reached for the sky. Had flowers, and made real life hops.

I picked them last Sunday and yesterday and cut down the bines to about 2 feet to let the rhizomes feed for the fall. The hops are drying on an old screen door, laid out in the garage. I will package and freeze them and take the to Jordan. I suppose he might brew something for you with them.

When you open them the smell is delicious, citrus and pine and a little hint of onion or garlic. Very satisfactory for the non gardener.

They will come back next year, and the year after. They may well outlive me.