Earlier today a cohort of daring Rose Scholars ventured via Ithaca-Taxi minivan to a place that I probably would not have gone to as a child–the Ithaca Beer Co. The ride over was scenic and took us about 12 and a half minutes. Traffic was not bad and there was a slight overcast. I may or may not have seen a deer (possibly a small child) in the road on the way over, which may have held us up a bit. Nonetheless, we made great time. I knew we had arrived to our destination when we pulled up to an industrial-looking structure that had the words “Ithaca Beer Co.” largely written on it. There was simply no mistaking it. We had in fact arrived to our destination just as planned.

When we opened the doors of the taxi, a sensational aroma of fine beer rushed into my nostrils and, for a split second, I could have sworn I became a bit tipsy. I am uncertain whether this was due to the potent aroma or the fact that the rocky ride over had spurred my motion sickness. It is likely that a combination of the two is to blame.

Once inside, we received exclusive VIP access to the factory floor, where we then enjoyed a tour of the facility for about 32-45 minutes. It was truly amazing to learn about the various steps that go into making a single bottle of beer. Generally, the steps include milling, mashing, lautering, boiling, fermenting, conditioning, packing, and then, finally, distributing. “Wow,” I thought, “that’s a lot of steps!”

Following the tour, we were treated to some free samples of the company’s beer, which included one of my favorites–Country Pumpkin. I like it because of the way that it is. More specifically, I like it because its luscious taste brings me back to the times when I would go on hayrides as a little lad at the local pumpkin patch back home. Unfortunately, it was during one of these hayrides that a fellow classmate jumped from the moving trailer and, to the best of my knowledge, was never seen again. But, anyway, I digress.

After a pleasant time tasting the beers and talking with peers (<– unintended rhyme) about the good ol’ days, the minivans (the same ones that had brought us to the Ithaca Beer Co.) pulled up to take us home. Unfortunately, as we boarded the minivans, a fellow Rose Scholar closed the minivan’s sliding door on her fingers and I heard a piercing crunch. As we carefully slid the door back open, we looked to see if her fingers were still attached which, luckily, they were. The best part was that she did not shed a single tear and lived to tell about it.

That is all.