White Pine

It’s that time of the year again. The midwinter sun comes up setting and leans on all the cold hard things while it runs its shortened course. The occasional Bay Area frost sees enough light to melt but not enough to dry before darkness rolls in again. Plasticized pine garland and spiced pine cones appear on all the ADA fixtures as ableism becomes the next front in the so-called War on Christmas. Somewhere in the Sierra the first snows are falling on the real deal: the western white pine. It smells of snow and pine and everything is incensed in its own air for no one. Some stands are older than Santa Claus, and some trees are older than Christ. We wanted a beer that would take us to that other place this season. It’s dank with notes of pine and bark, and is as crisp as a cold snap. Show Less