For the number of times I’ve been to visit the crew at Greenbush in the last six months, I might as well look into property in Sawyer, MI. Although, I hear there’s a casino bus that’ll drop you off at the gas station at the end of the street, so maybe I’ll experiment with alternative transport first. Oh, take note of the hot new signage! So classic.
Me and a few friends landed in the taproom while vacationing a few weekends back. We rented a house up the street and decided on a whim to load up the diaper bag and walk down with H____, the dandiest pre-toddler I know, and stepped up for a sampler and some 1825 Strong Belgian Ales.
Scott and Jill are reluctant to reveal the source of the name, but my money’s on the year of the opening of the Erie Canal in 1825, which lead to the founding of major cities along Lake Michigan’s shores. But maybe that’s a bit esoteric.
While H____ got his hands, mouth and nose into so many unfamiliar ingredients, including a glass of hops, we drank responsibly until mom came to collect him. But in the meantime, H____charmed the hell out of the ladies.
But as for the frequent visiting, nothing says “regular” like a personal mug. That’s right, I’m now in the official mug club, sitting in at no. 80 on the rail. Sure, there’s some incentive (50 cents off a pour, special event invites, etc.) but the real attraction is being part of something as ambitious and worthwhile as starting a new brewery and trying to break into the market. Mug clubs are the original kickstarter and I’m a happy backer. They’re what you call “good people.”
So the next time I’m up, I’ll finally get a chance to swig from mug no. 80 while staring longingly out the taproom windows at the custom made tepes in the emtpy lot across the street. If you squint, you might be able to imagine the fronteir town and dusty streets that ran through here, heading SW into the new metropolis on the prairie. The world is feeling more pre-prohibition every day.
Michael Kiser
