edes SUV pulled up my long, gravel driveway. It was Nicole. She got out, looking compl

old friends. "I found you! Your YouTu

ong piece of Douglas fir for the bar top of my

fferson from your porch. It wasn't hard to triangulat

," I said, not looking at

I brought groceries. I thought I could make you dinner

ive cuts of meat, organic vegetables, things she woul

," I said. "I don't wa

e porch. "Molly misses you. She asks abou

ssment. She showed up unannounced, sometimes with Molly, whose leg was now in a heavy cast. Nicole would try to "help" with the chores, clumsily attempting to sweep the por

lly's sad eyes. I had to. Any crack in my armor and she would wedge her

o do my laundry, having mixed a load of whites

le?" I yelled, the frustr

of now-grey socks. "I'm trying to show you I

. "There is no family. There is just you, trespassing on my property a

ag, my brewing notes, and my camera gear into the Ranger. I lef

d small, independent breweries across the country, from Idaho to Colorado, from Texas to Tennessee. I interviewed brewers, shared their stories, and documented the va