I fancy myself a bit of bourbon
Please do not half read the start
Although both are true
To be clear
I see myself as bourbon
Bourbon is an enigma of magical simplistic complexity
Corn and a handful of other grains
A new charred oak barrel
Time
Same as ATGC (four pieces of the endless puzzle of DNA)
Simple, neat, predictable, and endlessly complex
The mash is mostly one ingredient
Corn for bourbon
Family for me
The barrel
Oak for bourbon
New Hampshire for me
Both the oak and I are inescapably a product of our land
Slowly grown
Shaped by the environment around us
The char
For bourbon it comes down to how hot and how long
Same for me
Too much char and you risk a bitter end product
Too little and you have a forgettable finish
And time
Time is the one you can really control
Even though it seems to be so uncontrollable
You can correct a lot of missteps with time
A little linger in the barrel
Or a little motion while you wait
(Like the paddle boats on the great Mississippi
A gentle rocking to and fro
Echoing the prejazz played on the banks
The rhythmic motion giving birth to something wonderful
But I might as well be talking of woodchucks’ dreams for all my drifting)
A preferred place in the rack house
A little more heat
A place with a breeze
It changes you
It makes you draw more from everything else
With time you make sense of all else
The family into which you were inserted
The land from which you came
The char
Ah yes the char
How hot and for how long
To fully extract the meaning of this takes time
Lots of time
And if you take the time
And you really work to get the most out of all the simple things that really comprise who and what you are
You end with something of infinite complexity
Something that imparts warmth, depth, a hint of sweet, a strength that is apparent, and a finish that lingers leaving you wanting more
So to you (and me) I tip a bit of the ***** brown.