Authors: L.M. Fortin
As Callie got out of the car, she heard a sharp bark, and a medium sized orange and white Brittany spaniel came bounding down the stairs. His orange ears contrasted against his white fur. The white was mottled with liver colored spots and he wore a red and white bandanna tied around his neck.
“Hops! Get back here!” said a man’s voice from inside the house.
Callie assumed the dog was Hops and, as the dog sat patiently by her feet, she leaned over and rubbed his ears. “Good boy,” she said. Hops responded to that with a tongue swipe to her fingers and scooted closer to her, leaning on her leg. For a second she was surprised at the unconditional affection from the dog. It didn’t look as if she would get the chance to be showing anyone affection herself in the near future. Darn that Scott McMillan anyway. After leaving him a few messages that went unreturned, she had stopped reaching out to him and had heard nothing from him since mid-October.
“If he bothers you, just let me know and I’ll put him in his kennel out back,” said a tall, thin man coming down the stairs. He wore a blue long-sleeve collared work shirt and well-worn jeans. He had bristle stiff gray hair and looked to be in his late sixties. Callie thought he looked familiar.
“I think I’m here to see Ethan?” she asked.
“No, he’s thinking it would be best if you talked with me, as I’m making the beer for the competition. I’m his dad, Floyd Fillmer,” he said, putting out his hand. “And I see you’ve met Hops.”
Callie laughed. “Yes, and he’s not a bother at all.” Hops stood, his orange ears cocked up as if he knew she was speaking of him and wagged his tail. “He seems like a smart one.”
“Hops is definitely one of a kind. He’s just a year old, so he’s still got some manners to learn.”
Callie remembered her own manners. “I’m Callie Stone. I’m working with the Skinner Bru-topia.”
“That’s what Ethan said. He runs the day to day operations of the brewery and I just work on special projects now. I like to think I’m semi-retired,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”
They climbed the stairs and entered a large open space filled with tables. On one side of the room there was a small area where a wooden countertop was laid across two oversize beer barrels. There was a third barrel on the top. There were no taps located there, so Callie assumed they were just decorative. The focus of the room was a large carved mahogany bar extending the length of the room. “My dad had this bar shipped to him from New York in the 1930’s by rail when he set up the brewery.”
“Was the bar in this house? It seems a bit far from downtown,” said Callie.
“No, it used to be located right near where the Skinner railroad station is currently. When we expanded operations in the 80’s it made better sense to operate a tasting room and warehouse together. We didn’t have the space to do that in town, so we moved everything here,” he said.
“This might sound like a dumb question,” said Callie. “But why are you still considered a small brewery? Your business was the first real brewery in town and it seems to me you could have grown it to more of a national brand.”
“Now you sound like Ethan,” said Floyd, shaking his head. “He’s always wanting to take us national. I’ve just felt that when you get to such a large size, you lose control. When the focus becomes on how much you produce, you lose a sense of what you’re actually producing. I like being a craft beer seller. I like having control over what style of beer comes out of my brewery. One of Ethan’s friends is thinking of brewing on a larger scale, but he’s got to fix some smaller things before he can go anywhere.” He was lost in thought for a moment and said, “Us old-timers have got to look out for the young brewers and make sure they don’t do things they’ll regret later.”
Callie assumed that was another reference to Ethan’s national aspirations. “Could I see the warehouse? This is the first actual brewery that I’ve been in.”
Floyd stopped for a second and seemed to have momentary trouble keeping upright, but steadied himself as he leaned against the bar. Hops barked at him. “Quiet boy, I’m fine,” he said.
“Are you sure?” asked Callie.
“I had a bad round of the flu that had me down for a week or two, but I’m getting better,” he said, recovering himself and leading her to a door at the back of the room. Hops ran around him and waited eagerly at the door.
When the door opened Callie was overwhelmed with a scent she could only identify as a cross between yeasty bread and a breeze blowing across a field of wheat. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent.
Floyd noticed her deep breath and smiled. “Smells pretty good, eh? I think you’ll be a fine addition to our brewing family. Not everyone appreciates the odors of the process.”
“It’s sort of sweet, but a very full scent,” said Callie.
They walked through a large area full of floor to ceiling metal tanks and numerous metal vats with gauges and dials. When they got to the back of the space, they entered a room of openwork metal shelves piled with bags. Hops ran over to one set of shelves, piled high with green burlap bags, sniffing madly. “What’s got him so interested?” asked Callie.
“His namesake. For some reason he likes the scent of hops.” Then the dog rubbed against the rough burlap. “Or he enjoys the back scratching.”
There were large plastic jars labeled with things like coriander, lemon peel, and cocoa powder. “It takes many things to make up a beer,” said Callie, looking around in surprise. “I guess I never thought through that all that flavoring had to start just like this.”
“We’re lucky we live in an area where there’s an emphasis on natural ingredients, so they can be fresh when added to the beer,” he said. “Even though we’re not a large town, there’s such a strong brewing industry that we have our own spice merchant. It’s amazing how they can order any spice you ask for. They get the spices whole and then roast and grind them to our specifications.”
They walked through the warehouse and Floyd pointed out the various stages of brewing. “This is where I make our seasonal and specialty beers,” he said, pointing to several small squat vats. “The larger batch beers like our Magic Waters Ale and Black Magic Stout are made at our facility that’s right outside of Junction City.”
“What specialty beers are you brewing up today?” asked Callie.
Floyd’s eyes twinkled. “You are the one person who gets to find out about our competition special. I’ve been working on this for a few weeks now.”
Past all the kettles and tanks there was a metal door to a cooler. “Go into the office and I’ll bring out the beer and you can have a taste.” He opened the cooler door and went in.
Callie walked into a room that was more kitchen than office. There were two industrial sinks along one wall with a row of cabinets above them. In the center of the room was a long wooden table surrounded by chairs.
Floyd came into the room carrying a small pitcher. Hops was at his feet and barking madly.
“I take it he’s not a fan of beer?” asked Callie.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” he said impatiently. “Hops, sit!” The dog sat, tucking his paws underneath him, but Callie could see his legs quivering with the desire to jump up again. He whined.
“This is my specialty beer. I named it Belle Chanterelle,” said Floyd.
“You made a mushroom beer?” Callie asked, astonished. “How? Or maybe I should ask why?”
“The competition is for the most unique beer and I haven’t seen anyone else doing a mushroom beer. It seems like such a logical flavor for a brewery called Magic Waters. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” he said proudly. He went to one of the cabinets and took out two glasses. “I added mushroom flavor two different ways. I added dried mushrooms to the wort just before fermenting. Afterwards, I strained the pieces out. Second, I made a sort of Chanterelle extract by soaking the mushrooms in vodka for a few weeks and then adding the liquid to the beer after fermenting. So you get a subtle under taste from the first, and an aroma and flavor from the second. The mushroom comes at you from several different places.”
“Did you go out and get the mushrooms yourself?”
“No. Have you been out to Alterspice? They have dried mushrooms along with all the spices. It would have taken me a while to pick this quantity of mushrooms and dry them.” He poured out two glasses of beer. “You’re the first person to try this.”
Callie picked up the glass and held it to the light. The beer looked like a normal lager, shot through with golden light, but when she held it to her nose, she could definitely smell the aroma of mushrooms. She wasn’t certain she would like it. Hops barked as if in agreement.
However, she held her glass in the air. “Cheers!”
Floyd brought his glass in the air and clinked it against hers. As he pulled his arm back though, he convulsed, falling in on himself. He dropped the glass on the table where it broke, spilling amber liquid and broken glass on the table and floor. He grabbed the edge of the table, but wasn’t able to stop himself. He fell to the ground.
Callie set her beer on the table and ran over to him. “Floyd? Floyd?” she said, gently shaking him. He didn’t respond. She checked his pulse, and he still seemed to be breathing. She dialed 911.
As she waited for the EMT’s, Callie did what she could for Floyd. She found a flannel jacket across the back of one of the chairs and laid it across his shoulders, hoping to keep him warm and out of shock. When he had fallen to the ground, his cell phone came out of his pocket. Although she felt a little intrusive, Callie turned the phone on, in the hopes of finding a number for Ethan. His number was there and Callie dialed it.
“Dad?”
“Ethan, no. It’s Callie Stone. I came by the brewery about the Bru-topia today.”
“Why are you calling from Dad’s phone?” he asked, more puzzled than worried.
“Floyd’s had some sort of seizure and he’s unconscious. We’re in the back of the warehouse and I’ve called an ambulance.”
“Oh, god,” said Ethan. “I told him to take it easy after that flu.”
“Can you meet him at the hospital downtown? I’m assuming that by the time you would get here, they will have come and gone.”
“You’re right, the hospital’s closer. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you so much for calling me.”
Callie hung up, not sure what to do. Hops came over and laid himself alongside Floyd, the dog’s full body stretched out against Floyd’s.
“Good boy, Hops. Try to keep him warm.”
Callie realized she hadn’t asked Ethan what to do about the dog. She went out into the warehouse. Certainly someone else was here? “Hello, is there anyone around?” she called out.
A man came from the back, wiping his hands on a towel. “Can I help you?”
“Floyd has passed out. I’ve contacted an ambulance and called Ethan who’s going to go meet him at the hospital.”
The man ran into the kitchen area. “Hops, you dirty mutt, get away from him!” Hops jumped to his feet as if he’d been kicked and whined, running over to Callie.
The man pointed to a drawer next to one of the sinks as he knelt onto the ground. “We have a first aid kit in there. I think there’s a space blanket with it.”
Callie opened the kit and found the metallic blanket. The man wrapped the blanket over the flannel jacket. “Maybe that will help.”
The EMT’s came and rapidly packed Floyd up to rush him to the hospital. The man, who had never bothered to introduce himself, left with them, presumably in the ambulance.
Callie looked at Hops. “Well, it looks like just you and me, eh?”
Callie walked through the warehouse. Floyd and the mystery man seemed to have been the only employees on site. Instead of going to the door that connected the warehouse to the taproom, Callie headed to an overhead door that was obviously used for deliveries. It was open and she looked along the wall until she found the switch that would close it. She wasn’t sure how to lock everything, but she found the light switch and turned out the lights as she left.
At the side of the warehouse there was a large dog run and kennel area, surrounded by a tall steel chain link fence. Inside was a doghouse and a sliver colored food bowl. Callie opened the door and Hops obligingly trotted in and laid down on an old gray blanket in front of the house.
She shook her head. “I can’t just leave you here, can I?” Hops looked up and cocked his head. “Come on. Until I can get a hold of Ethan, you can stay at the farm.” Hops jumped up and butted his head against her knee. She could swear the dog knew what she was saying. “Try not to shed all over my car, OK?”
Callie drove home, Hops laying quietly on the seat beside her. She drove the long driveway to the house, enjoying the fall colors on the trees. She felt lucky her mom believed in the value of composting leaves, otherwise it would make for hours of raking.
She opened the door and Hops jumped out, eagerly sniffing the ground. Callie didn’t take him into the main house. She figured Hops would go over better if she offered to keep him in the cottage. She walked around to the back of the house and the path for the cottage.
Across the garden, Callie could see her mother, bent over a patch of late potatoes.
“Who’s this fine fellow?” asked her mom. Hops, knowing to take advantage of a friendly voice when he heard one, bounded over the plants and bumped his nose into Coral’s leg.