Maine Firewood Values in BTU

Heat Values for Common Maine Firewood.

I grew up with a couple of woodstoves, and have gotten used to "just knowing" which wood is best for heating the house, and how much heat I'll get from a particular stove-load of firewood. I can tell how long I have before I should look at stoking the fire again, by what I've put into it, and how well it's burning. This becomes second nature after a while, honest. If you are new to wood heat, it may seem like just too many variables, too many maybes. Sometimes you go to bed with a stove full of wood and wake up to good coals, sometimes it's all gone by morning. Trust me, it will make sense after a while.

The heat generated by burning wood is measured in BTUs, or British Thermal Units. Briefly, a BTU is the amount of heat needed to raise a pound of water from 39 degrees to 40 degrees fahrenheit. Most of the world measures heat by joules, but the BTU hangs on in talk of furnaces and wood-stoves. Specifically, firewood is rated in milllions of BTUs per cord. To complicate things a little further, there's the factor of how much of the heat is expended vaporizing the water contained in the wood. Now to be frank, I ran into this in my research and thought, Huh. the heat doesn't leave the house other than up the chimney, whether it's vaporizing water in the wood or not. Why should it matter? I found lists showing the effective heating of wood after considering this factor, lists that showed the raw heat availability, and lists that showed both. Some of them seemed to conflict with my experience of the heating utility of the kinds of wood that I'm used to. The sources that most closely match my experience, using the wood I almost always burn, yield these results. In Maine, most of what your likely to burn is listed here, with the best heat-providers at the top.

To be clear, if you burn softwood, like dry pine or cedar, it will burn hot. But it will burn up and become ash very quickly, compared to the hardwoods. I include hemlock because it lasts a bit longer than that, and is a good wood to include in your firewood mix to use for morning fires, just getting the heat going quickly.


There are considerations, of course. Poplar starts to rot very quickly if it is not split right away, same as all kinds of birch. Hornbeam and oak, while great heat sources, are best added to a fire that is already hot and underway. It is much easier to start a fire with hemlock and maple. Smaller pieces burn up faster than bigger pieces. If you are new to wood heating, at least try to get the hang of this; when you are there to tend it, run a smaller fire, but hotter (more air, more flame). Tend it often, adding just a stick or two. This will be quick, hot fire that will be better for your chimney, and honestly more enjoyable to look at. When you go to bed, or when you leave for work, stuff your stove with larger pieces of wood from the top of this list, and give it less air. It will burn slowly, but long. The downside of those long burns is the creosote buildup in your chimney. You can combat this by running the fire hotter when you are at home.

 Another consideration is that while oak and ironwood are your greatest heaters, they also grow slowly, ironwood especially so. You can't use several cords of ironwood annually for very long before you run out of it, and have none left growing. A variety is good, and leaving the right blend of younger trees behind to mature is also good.

Ice Lanterns for Winter Beauty

Here in Maine we've been making ice lanterns whether we like it or not for as long as there have been buckets. I remember punching a hole in my horse's frozen water, and sliding the hollow ice shell out of the pail, back during the Carter administration. I think Dad was the first to put a candle inside the glittering shell of winter ice, at least in our little family enclave.

Ice lantern with bittersweet, cedar, and rose hips.

Since those days I have set many a frozen shell of water, formed inside a five-gallon honey-bucket, up on a snow-drift, lit a pillar candle inside it, and let it burn for nights on end. Why did I never think to freeze pretty greenery into it, though? Recently I saw an example of this, and it was such an obvious and lovely improvement that I just had to laugh at myself. And then go and try it!

Here's how I used to do it: fill a five-gallon plastic bucket with cold water, and leave it outside for a full night of single-digit weather. Bring it inside, pour warm water over the bucket, slide out the frozen shape. The bottom will be much thinner. Punch a hole in it, pour out the still-liquid center, place it outside upside-down. Light a candle in it, and voila! A basic ice lantern! In cold weather it will last for a long time, and be beautiful.

Now, some improvements to that basic lantern. I went out and cut some cedar sprigs, some bittersweet, and some rose-hips. You could use anything that is pretty, from pine-cones to dried flowers. Then I cut the top off of a 2-liter soda bottle, just below the sloped curve, so it made a large empty pillar. I found some rocks to fill it with. Using the same five-gallon bucket, I placed the rock-filled container in the bucket, filled the bucket around that with cold water, and some ice cubes to get it started, and arranged my pretty greenery around the soda bottle. 

The candle lights the frozen greenery from within, winter magic!

Leaving it outside overnight on a below-twenty-degrees night just barely did it. The ice was thin. You might need to take two nights like that, or wait until a single-digit night is forecast. I suggest placing the bucket on lawn furniture or wooden slats, anything to get it off the ground. Surprisingly, the ground will insulate the water from below. The next morning, all you need to do is free it from the bucket by running tapwater over the outside and sliding your lantern carefully out into the sink, letting the water in the middle escape down the drain. The following evening, place a tea-light, votive, or pillar candle inside, and you've got wintry gorgeousness! However you celebrate the coldest, darkest time of the year, an ice lantern sporting your local winter color can add a special magic...

One Last Wish

Satisfied

Satisfied

Copyright Eric Robbins November 21 2012

By the sweat of my Father,                                                        C             Cmaj9   Am                       

And the tears of my mother,                                                     C             Cmaj9    Am

I got no call to be faulting the weather,                                   C             Cmaj9    Am

I’m satisfied…                                                                                G

See those leaves blowing one way,

And that crow flies another.

As long as the two of us are together,

I’m satisfied…

(Chorus) How could I ask for more than I’ve got,                 G            F             C             G           

When each day begins with you?                                              C             F             G

I got my head up in the stars,                                                    G            F             C             G

My feet in the morning dew, and I’ve got you…                    C             F             G            C

The wind blows the world ‘round,

From the treetops and the whitecaps,

But warmed by the fireplace and held in your arms

I’m satisfied…

When I know that you’re coming home,

I’m waiting by the front steps.

We hold each other safe from any harm,

I’m satisfied…

Got a roof to hold the snowfall,

Warm blankets for the frosty chill.

Together we don’t need to fear the deepest frost,

I’m satisfied…

Your heart is my compass rose,

To guide me like the stars at night,

Steering ever homeward where once I wandered lost,

I’m satisfied…

The Season of Thankfulness

Welcome to Ironwood Hollow

We all have family stories that warm our hearts, that remind us of the very best part of our heritage. Here's one of mine. It's short, but I still can't tell it without choking up. My grandfather Arnold died suddenly of a heart attack when I was a young boy. He was a formal, intimidating man to us kids, and unfortunately we never got to know him better than that. Shortly after retiring, he and my Grammy Carrie had almost all of the family, kids, cousins, etc., to their beautiful cottage on the coast of Maine, and that's when he went. It was sudden, and the family has never gotten together again as completely as we did for his funeral that weekend. Her name was the last word he spoke.

A few years ago my mother told me that Grammy Carrie, who outlived him by many years, kept his bedroom slippers under the bed until her own passing. She never loved another. That kind of devotion makes my heart swell with hope for humankind. I just can't think of another way to say it. 

Grammie's memory lives, and not just in the Fiestaware!

One of the ways Grammie Carrie lives on in our family is in our dishware, as odd as that sounds; I remember sitting at her old kitchen table when I visited them as a boy, having breakfast cereal in an original green fiesta bowl. She loved her collection of fiestaware. To this day I can't hold a green piece of fiesta without thinking of her, and a varied assortment of fiesta is what we use for everyday dishware, as well as for special occasions. That table, where Grampy used to keep his feet under the support bar so as to catch any of us kids, or our parents when they were little, who might used it as a footrest (against the rules), was laden with a feast on fiestaware for this Thanksgiving. This year our newly grown family sat around that same table, held hands, said grace, and carried the memory of my Grampy and Grammy forward into a heartwarming, wonderful, new time of our lives.

The connection that struck me in that moment is that I finally understand the devotion that she had for him. Meeting my Honey's eyes at the far end of this table, with our newly blended family connecting us along the length of the big room,  I realized that although times change, love is powerful and enduring. May we all find that one perfect other, the one whose slippers could never be taken out from under the bed. May our children and grandchildren learn from us that such a thing is possible.

Perseverance

Years ago, I went on a motorcycle trip with my very good friend Johnny Bongo. We were both fairly new to the biking world, maybe a couple of years of local riding under our belts. Part of my own preparation involved trading in my classic beemer for a newer one (still not a NEW one, just not as ancient) because I knew that my wrenching skills had some clear limitations. Both of us planned like crazy. We each packed emergency supplies, plenty of clothes, tire-repair kits, the whole deal. 

Barrier, schmarrier...

Johnny had a new GPS system, and had worked out every turn of the road to get us where we were going. Believe me, we went to some beautiful parts of the country. A couple of days in, and here's where the photo makes sense, we were scheduled to find our campsite, tucked away in the flat landscape of Ohio. The roads there are laid out like graph paper lines across a virtually flat landscape, very strange to JB and I, who live in a wooded, hilly part of Maine, where no road goes more than half a mile without a needed turn. 

So every few miles was a cross-road, and there were no side-roads, no back ways, no diagonals. Not long before dark, we came to a closed road barrier, just five miles from where we were trying to go. We knew that if we let it stop us it would mean going back, and all the way around one of those giant blocks of waving corn, several miles for each side of a square. We looked at the barriers, looked at the big backhoe parked right across both lanes, bucket to the tar, at the deep swales on each side of the road, looked at the sun going down. We were tired. We had sore asses and stiff backs. We wanted to be setting up our tents and warming up some soup. This unforeseen obstacle really sucked at that moment. Then we looked at each other, shrugged, and wordlessly agreed to just try it. 

Around the barriers we went, creeping in first gear, then very carefully, leaning the bikes to squeeze under the arm of the backhoe, over to the other side. Each bike took all of the strength of both of us to maneuver under that arm. One of us bent a rearview mount a little bit, I don't remember who. It might have been that the road was closed because it was totally impassible further along, but that wasn't the case. We felt like such rebels. The point is, though, that we didn't shrug and turn back. The road wasn't impassible. We didn't hurt anybody. And we got to where we were going, almost on time. 

Looking through old photos, I found this and realized that I had not thought of the obstacle, or of our perseverance, for years. In the moment, it felt like a big potential setback. I recall resorting to some choice Anglo-Saxon vocabulary for a minute or so. Now though, it is a distant memory. Much clearer in my mind is the gathering of new friends when we finally got to our destination, the evening around the campfire swapping riding stories.

Here's another, briefer example. My Dad has taken me, my sister, all of his grandchildren, and many others, on a hike of Katahdin, Maine's most spectacular mountain, many times. It's not an easy hike. It's frankly exhausting, much more of an endeavor than most people expect when they first get up that morning and confidently strap on a backpack.

Climbing Katahdin

See how rugged the climb is in the photo? That's Dad on the left. My point is that if you look at the mountain ahead, it looks insurmountable. If you put one hand over another, watch your step, place your feet carefully, and keep your mind on the goal, you get there. Every single person who has attempted that climb among the many excursions that I've been on has finished it. They've seen Maine from its highest point. They've walked the famed Knife Edge Trail. They've seen Chimney Pond from on high, where it looks like a tiny jewel among toy trees. That's what they remember, not the tiredness, the sore knees, the scraped knuckles. They remember succeeding.

That's my message today. Know where you want to go, and don't turn aside. Take the next step. Reach for the next handhold. Pause for a breath, but don't look back. Oh, and one more thing. This one is important. Take the right people with you on your journey.

Almost Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving I will truly count my blessings!

Love songs by nature are about gratitude, and my latest is no exception. Coming up on Thanksgiving, I feel like a kid before Christmas. Much of my family will meet much of my Honey's family for the first time. I will be a puddle of emotion, there's no doubt, watching her make a banquet hall of our little castle in the woods, seeing our parents watching us both finally be arm in arm with the love that we have always needed, seeing generations come together under the roof of our sheltering home.

We are both keenly feeling the fortune of having our parents still with us, of watching the children move out into the world in their individual ways, of having brothers and sisters who support and love us, whose lives we support with our own love. With all of this swirling around in my heart, I've written another song, one that only scratches the surface of these emotions, but that's okay. It leaves space for more songs, next time I stay up late, lightly playing, while the love of my life, and the kids, sleep peacefully in the Hollow. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

  -Harper

"Satisfied" copyright Eric Robbins November 10, 2012

By the sweat of my father, and the blood of my mother,
I've got no call to be faulting the weather, I'm satisfied...
I see the leaves blowing one way, and that crow flies another.
As long as we two are together, I'm satisfied...

    How could I ask for more than I've got, 
    When each day begins with you?
    Got my head all up among the stars,
    And my feet in the morning dew, and I've got you!

The wind blows the world 'round, see the treetops and the whitecaps.
Warmed by the fireplace, and held in your arms, I'm satisfied...
When I know that you're coming home, I wait by those front steps.
I watch over you, and you keep back the storms, I'm satisfied...

Got a roof to hold the snowfall, heavy blankets for that winter chill.
The two of us are safe against the deep December frost, I'm satisfied...
Your heart is my compass rose, to show the way like the stars at night,
Steering every homeward, though once I wandered lost, I'm satisfied...

Update from Ironwood Hollow

It has been a good week here at Ironwood Hollow. The Vanilla Tupelo Honey Mead started a week ago has been bubbling away quietly in the pantry. We've talked with a couple of mead-students who are now accomplished meaders in their own right about some batches in progress and how to handle unforeseen issues (when in doubt, wait for it to get better). We've moved some things around so as to get to the mead in the cellar a little more easily, with an eye to finding just the right bottles for what promises to be an epic Thanksgiving. 

We've had the first snow of any consequence since Honey and the kids have moved in, and we all watched a young buck browsing our blackberry bushes amidst the new white this morning before school. Everyone pitched in with the project of building a rack above our firewood in the woodshed, for all the reclaimed lumber that has been accumulating for future projects. 

The Mellow Hill Dome

The kids have taken to country life in a beautiful way, and we're just getting started. The boys have done nearly all the work of sifting gravel for the driveway repairs and a greywater drainage area for wash-water. All of them help with the firewood. This morning we watched that buck nibbling in the yard before the kids made their own tracks right across his on their way to the school-bus pickup.

We have started to arrange our thanksgiving, first one together. I realized this morning that I will just be a puddle of emotion for that entire day, as Honey's family meets mine, we fill the 'Hollow with more love and kin than ever before, and these cordwood walls (and our arms) embrace the newly grown family that we are bringing together. Tears of joy make the best seasoning, and since I know what a big old heap of sentimentality I am, I think I'll let Honey do the talking while I carve the turkeys. 

We just got our first delivery from Currier and Chives, a new local bakery CSA, and had home-made raisin bread toast for breakfast today! If there is a local farmer who sells any kind of shares in his product, that is such a great way to support the real local green economy. Ask at health-food stores and farmer's markets if there is anything like that around you; we have seafood, meat, vegetable, and bakery CSA's in our area, and support them as we can.

We're looking forward to a big building project next year, and have started pulling ideas together for that. Winter in Maine is long, and cozy evenings by the fire with graph paper and alternative building books will get us through. Watch for updates!

Filling Dad's woodshed.

About the kids and wood...my Dad, right next door in the Mellow Hill Dome, needed help this year with his firewood for the first time ever. He had it all cut ahead and seasoned in the old shed down by the barn, but needed to have three cords of wood moved up to the shed next to the house and workshop. In two easy afternoons the kids pitched in, and we scurried back and forth like an ant colony with wheelbarrows, until he had everything just the way he needs it for the winter. I was so proud of them...I haven't smiled that much through hard work in my whole life. 

So that's life at Ironwood Hollow this week. Family, wildlife, projects, hopes, dreams, blessings, trials, love, life, beauty, and yet more blessings. May your life be as full, and may you be as aware of that fullness as we are!

Make Mead part 3

Mead Label sample, front and back

By now you'll have read parts one and two, and I hope started a batch of your own mead. If not, maybe you're collecting tools and ingredients, and will begin soon? The sooner you begin, the sooner you can have that well-stocked mead-cellar you've always dreamed about...

I've heard meaders describe many ways of dealing with the end of fermentation, settling, bottling, etc. A lot of those ways will work, so don't worry if you hear conflicting advice. I'm just going to describe how I do it, a method worked out for small-batch brewing through over a hundred batches during the last twenty-five years.

When you add fruit, spices, leaves, or any other solids to your mead, you have the option of removing what's left of the solids partway through the process, or leaving it all in until you pour it off. Some people add flavorings, particularly extracts and spices, after the fermentation is all finished. What I like to do is take out most of the solids, pretty much anything that's still floating, after three or four weeks. Then I close it back up, bubbler and all, and wait, without opening it again, until it's completely finished bubbling, usually at least another three or four weeks. This varies a lot, so don't worry if it's slower, as long as it's bubbling.

Bottled and ready for corks, Photo by Honey

When it's all done, it's usually cloudy with a couple of inches of sediment, made up mostly of dead yeast cells. I use a siphon hose, and carefully transfer the liquid into glass jugs, one-gallon wine bottles or something similar. I loosen the lids momentarily every day after that until there is no hiss from pressure-release, then I leave them alone in a cool, dark room to settle out. Depending on your recipe, this can take a
couple of weeks or a couple of months. Fair warning, some meads never really settle out. You can get additives to help with this, but I prefer to drink it as is, on the rare occasions that this happens.

Simple corker. Photo by Honey.

When you are ready to bottle your mead, line up enough wine bottles, use a funnel, and fill each bottle to the base of the neck, tipping the jug carefully so as not to stir up the sediment. fill bottles carefully until you start to pour sediment along with the mead, then set that jug aside and move on to the next. When all of the jugs are empty except for a bit of cloudy mead with sediment, pour them all together into one jug, and save it. It's not waste, honest! I'll come back to that.

Standard wine bottles take a "#8" cork, but a #9 will fit, just much more tightly. Of all the cork-setters out there, I prefer the simplest, which is hand-held, a plastic plunger through a guide that you just balance on top of the bottle, which is best braced on the floor between your shins. Soak the corks in warm water for at least five minutes, and they will work better.

Corking is this easy! Photo by Honey.

Making labels is fun, now that you can get full-sheet sticker paper, and color printing is affordable. I usually use a painting or photo that I like, add text over that, sometimes in a framed space, and fit six or eight labels to a sheet. Remember that the bottles should be stored in a cool, dark place, on their sides, and that ten-year-old mead should be re-corked if you want to keep it safely for even longer. 

Back to that jug of mostly sediment. Hang onto that, and when you bottle your next batch, add the clear top part of that jug to the sediment and cloudy part of the second batch. Same thing with your third batch, and after a while you'll have a big jug of Plonk, which is what we call the blend of settled-out dregs from several batches. It makes a fine table mead, or cooking mead. My Plonk label usually says something like, "A fine artisanal blend of meads, expertly concocted in our sink just last Tuesday."

Make Mead part 2

Mead Rule: 1 tea, 2 oranges per gallon.

In the previous post, we told you everything you need to know to get started making mead. Now we'll fill in some blanks, so you will understand more of what you're doing, and so you can adapt that recipe to your own tastes and style. First, about honey...

Honey is simply amazing, for many reasons. The amount of work and flight miles that bees put into every ounce is staggering. It can't spoil, all that happens is it hardens, and can be warmed to soften again. Local honey is considered by many to provide nearly magical healing and health-supporting benefits, partly because of the sampling of local pollen that is included. For the recipe we gave, we used Tupelo honey, just because we really wanted to try it, but usually we use our own locally harvested unpasteurized wildflower or clover honey. We encourage you to find your nearest apiaries and buy directly from them. You'll be getting local honey which will be a health boost for you, you'll be saving money over supermarket prices, and you'll be supporting an important local farmer.

Add yeast when it's cool enough!

As far as yeast goes, we use RedStar yeast, which is a dry wine yeast, costing pennies per packet, available at many home-brewing shops and health-food stores. RedStar makes several varieties, and we have gotten good results from the Cote des Blancs, or the Montrachet. There are many other options, just make sure not to use beer yeast or baker's yeast. Those will not be vigorous at the higher alcohol levels that you will need them for. We use one packet of dry yeast for up to three gallons, and two for up to six, the most that will fit in any of our carboys or buckets.

Wine yeast is most happy if you feed it grape juice. Since we're feeding it honey instead, we need to round out the nutrition in the must by adding a couple of things. You can buy yeast nutrients, but we like to use all natural ingredients instead. Since the two main nutrients that are missing from the yeast's diet are citric acid and tannic acid, we add citrus fruit juice and strongly steeped black tea. Our Rule of Thumb is this: for each gallon of must, add one teabag and two oranges. It really is as simple as that, and after you feel confident enough, you can certainly experiment. I have used oak bark for the tannic acid (it being locally grown), and strawberries, rose-hips, spruce tips, for the citric acid for the same reason, and you may want to use your own local alternatives.
 
The yeast will be added when you have everything stirred together, at the desired sweetness, and cooler than the mid-nineties fahrenheit. You'll keep it sealed up with a way for the gases to escape. Over several weeks, it will convert sugar and those acids to alcohol and carbon dioxide, which will be your signal about its activity. When no more bubbles occur, it's done. Just don't let the water evaporate from the bubbler. 

Some people use sulfites to stop the yeast activity. We believe that sulfites are unhealthy and prefer to let the yeast takes its natural course. The yeast will die off naturally when the alcohol is somewhere in the upper teens, +/- 17% alcohol. Then you pour it off into jugs to settle out, and bottle it when it's clear.

Reading a hydrometer for mead

You use the hydrometer to measure your mead's alcohol content. To do this you need to take two readings with it, one before you add the yeast, and one when the fermenting is all finished. There are several scales drawn on the paper inside the glass, all running vertically. You only need to read the scale that says "Potential Alcohol." To do this accurately, half-fill your column with mead that has been cooled to sixty degrees, and drop the hydrometer in. Read where the surface level comes to on the scale. That's all there is to it. Save that number, measure again when fermenting is all done, and compare the two numbers; the difference between them is your alcohol content!

Example: at the beginning, our batch measured 18.2. When it is all done, let's say it measures 2.5, that means there's a bit of honey left unused, so it's a little sweet. 18.2 minus 2.5 equals 15.7, which is the alcohol level, a bit stronger than table wine. 

Hydrometer's easy.

I like to start my mead with a potential alcohol of 17 or 18 percent. Before adding the yeast, I adjust the mix by adding water or honey so as to make it heavier or lighter, until it measures at the number that I want. If I put together everything, measure it, and it says it has a potential of 20 percent, then I add water a pint at a time because it's sweeter than I want. When I get it to measure 17 or 18 percent, that's when I stop, write it down for future reference, and get on with add the yeast and getting it into the fermenting container.  After you have some experience, and know better how dry or sweet you like your mead, you will have your own preferred starting point. 

What can we add to mead? Take chances!

What can you add to mead for flavoring? Basically, fruits, berries, and spices, all just depending on your taste. Some of my favorites have been apple (with apple pie spices), raspberry, chinese-5-spice, licorice, spiced date, pear, and blueberry. Thinking further outside the box, I've made very nice spruce tip mead, young oak leaf mead, sumac mead, maple sap mead, and then there are the braggots, which are mead that include malted barley or malt extract. Don't be shy about this, just be careful to avoid ingredients with preservatives (yeast is alive, remember), and to be aware of how much sugar is in what you're adding. Good luck, and happy meading! I'll post a part three about racking, jugging, bottling, corking, labeling, at least the way we do it here.

Make Mead, Part 1

Honey is an amazing food, and is what makes mead special

Making mead for over 25 years has been one of my greatest ongoing pleasures, and I want to show you how you can find the same satisfaction. Right away you can steep yourself in an ancient tradition, and start having your very own for the table, the fireside, gifts, or for your cellar to bring up as golden treasure years from now! Mead is a wonderful, ancient, magical beverage, essentially wine made from honey. Most people who have heard of it know it from the saga of Beowulf, and imagine mead-halls with vikings surviving winters with the comfort of vats of mead and roasting wild game. Varieties of mead have been made throughout history all over the world though. Africa, Australia, Asia...the Greeks even had a mead culture before wine caught on.

There are so many possibilities for flavors and styles that you could make a new kind of mead every year for life, and still have unexplored options. We'll show you how to begin, using the example of the Tupelo Honey Vanilla Mead that we just started. I'm very happy about this batch in particular, since it's the first time my Honey and I have made mead together! The kids were asleep, we both were coming off a long day, but we persevered, whispering instructions, trying not to bang the pots too hard, making magic by moonlight on a beautiful autumn evening in our little hollow...

Mead in the bucket, soon to be treasure in the cellar

First, let's talk about your equipment. What you need is simple and easy to find. If you have a big pot, like a canning kettle, that's perfect. A thermometer that measures from room temperature up toward boiling is helpful even though I don't recommend boiling your mead. A carboy (big glass bottle, often five gallons) or brewing bucket, with a bubbler (simple vaporlock), and a wine hydrometer, all available online and from brew-shops and health food stores all over, are the only specialty items you should have.

The bubbler is a simple tool that allows carbon monoxide to leave the fermenting container without letting air back in, by bubbling through water, either through an s-curve or out from under a little inverted plastic cup. The hydrometer is a tool that measures the specific gravity of your must (mixture that will become mead). You want to start the must at a certain level of sweetness, which means it is dense because there is honey dissolved into the water, and the hydrometer measures this accurately, at 60 degrees fahrenheit. Then, as the yeast converts the honey to alcohol, the must gets less sweet, more alcoholic, and less dense. Your hydrometer helps you know how close to finished it is, and how much alcohol you have. More on this later.

This plus water and patience makes mead!

Let's just start with the basic recipe. I can explain some of it as we go along. Here's what we used:
One gallon of Tupelo Honey, about 12 pounds.
About two and a half gallons of hot water (tap-water hot)
The juice of 7 clementines.
Three basic black teabags.
Two vanilla bean-pods.
One packet Cote des Blancs dry wine yeast.

Pour all of the honey into your pot. Then fill the honey container with hot tap-water, emptying it into the pot, twice. Next, put the three teabags into two or three cups of boiling water to steep. Squeeze the juice of the clementines (or oranges, but use five or six because they are bigger) into the pot. Cut the vanilla bean pods in half lengthwise, and scrape out all of the stuff inside with a knife, then add all of it to the pot, even the pods. (Keep out the yeast for now!) Stir until all of the honey is dissolved.

Getting the intense seeds from the vanilla pods for mead

If your water isn't hot enough, or if your honey is too solid to dissolve, you may need to heat it carefully on a stove, but don't do it if you don't need to.

If you want to keep things really basic, you are almost finished. Simply add the tea, let it cool to ninety degrees or less, and put in your carboy with the yeast, add on the bubbler, and wait. You'll make fine mead that way! If you want to fine-tune it a bit more, and have more predictable results, here's where the hydrometer comes in.

It helps to understand what's going on with the yeast. It's multiplying, living off of the honey and the nutrients provided by the citrus fruit and the tea. It's making alcohol and carbon monoxide, and the must is getting less dense (that's what the hydrometer measures), as it becomes more alcoholic. When it gets to something in the area of sixteen percent alcohol, the yeast will really be struggling. By then there will be a lot less sugar to live on, and the alcohol starts to make it hard for the yeast to live at all. It will reach a point where the yeast all dies, leaving behind a bit of unused honey and a lot of alcohol. Most wine yeast is vigorous only up to about that sixteen percent level. Bread yeast will not survive that long, which is why you won't use it to make mead.

Add oranges to mead for the citric acid, and flavor!

If you like a sweet mead, then you will want to start with something like 18-20 % "potential alcohol" on your hydrometer reading. There will be enough honey left when the yeast dies off to leave some sweetness in your mead. If you like a dry (not-sweet) mead, then you will want to start with something like 14-16 % "potential alcohol" on your hydrometer reading, or even less. To do this, you need to cool a small sample of the must to about sixty degrees, measure it in the tube that the hydrometer comes in, and add water if needed.

Harper and Honey's first batch of mead!!! <3

For example, when we made this batch, my first reading came to about 20% potential alcohol after we had cooled a quarter cup to sixty degrees and measured it. We added three cups of cold water, stirred, and measured again. We got just over 19%. Added two more cups of cold water, stirred, cooled a sample, and measured it at 18.2%. That sounded about right to us, so we stopped there. As soon as the pot had cooled to about ninety degrees, we poured it into the brew-bucket, added the yeast, and fitted the lid with a bubbler.

We'll comment on this batch as it progresses, and will follow up soon with a Part 2, some notes and observations that will fill in a lot of blanks for you, but this post should definitely get you started. Contact us with any questions, and happy meading!

Living with Your Mistakes

When I started my house, I was a rank beginner in construction. Truth be told, I had never built anything more involved than bookshelves at that point in my life. I had the great gift of an acre of land to work with, and it was a hilly acre. I read as much as I could about what I was about to undertake, and then I simply dove in. One of the first things I did, after cutting trees and pulling brush away, was to lay out the foundation of the house. This was an ark-shaped perimeter, on a hillside, with irregular bedrock just a foot or two below the surface. I worked out how to use a water level, which is made from a length of garden hose, duct tape, and a couple of two-liter soda bottles with the bottoms cut off of them, filled with water. It sounds like something that should need two people to work properly, and it is, but I did what I could with it. Alone in the woods, I laid out my best approximation of a symmetrical three-cornered foundation with two curved walls and a rise of about eleven feet from end to end.

Pouring the footing...

Later, after I had done my best with the footing, with a lot of help from friends and family, then done my best with the double-width, curved, uphill, cement block foundation, I learned that my curves, as laid out, were not exactly symmetrical. Actually I had several inches of irregularity, and I told myself that if I just built the floor, then built the cordwood walls as best I could, I would figure out what to do with the roof when I got to that point. Nobody would know the difference. 

I expect that an engineer would have done a better job of cleaning up after such a start, but I'm not an engineer. Three years later, when I was closing in on roofing over the curved end of the house, I spent many an hour sitting up there on top of the cordwood, cussin' and figurin', trying my best to make the roof look good on top of the structure that I had made. Ultimately, I would have to say that it turned out okay, but not anywhere near perfect. My placement of the piers for the floor structure brought me similar difficulties. My cabinets in the bathroom and kitchen are enough off-square that I can't possibly buy off-the-rack parts, and must fabricate every last little piece to fit.

Today I find myself reviewing past mistakes, of course wishing I hadn't made them, for sure wanting to find a good outcome anyway. The echoes of those mistakes resonate through so much of what followed, and I have to find my way through my present, all the while adjusting to the course set by what I did back in the day. 

Roofing was so complicated because of mistakes in the foundation!

By now I'm sure you have realized that I'm prone to metaphor and allegory. How does all of this apply to life in general? Well, for one, I have to accept that I laid out my house, and also my life, in a way that would cause me trouble later, and I have to deal with it as best I can. For another, if I can look at that wavy roof, and realize that it works okay, that it reflects the best that I knew how to do at the time, and believe that I truly tried to make it good in spite of a bad start, I should be able to look at other aspects of my life the same way. Sure, I should have done things differently, and I would go back and change things if I could. I can't, though, and can only do better going forward, while doing my damnedest to make better anything that I messed up on my way here.

A difference between the house and the rest of my life is that I had the best intentions when I laid out my foundation. With the rest of my life, I have to admit that selfishness and lack of consideration were a big part of where I went wrong. What can I do about this? Time will tell, but the same answer is there. I can't change the past, but I can damned well avoid making the same mistakes. I can adjust my course, and simply do everything I can to make the rest of my work, of my life, much better, not just for myself, but for those I love.

One lesson I can take from the way my foundation echoes into my roof and everything else in my house is that when you can't undo things, you can at least do everything you can to make the eventual outcome better. The first step (of many) is to realize where you went wrong, and why.