Something in the scenery of my native country, Venezuela—perhaps its air, its light—prevents many people from leaving for good. I say this not in the spirit of nationalism or sentimentality, but rather with mixed feelings, even a sense of doom. In a nation where daily life can be so strenuous, there is at the same time this natural wonder, this seductive power of the place. I’m someone who managed to leave, though all things considered, I remain divided.
Recently I found myself traveling along the roads of Santa Catarina, in southern Brazil, on my way to the region’s annual hop harvest festival in the city of Curitibanos. As I went, I could not help but recognize much of that same Venezuelan exuberance in its natural and cultural multiplicity; its elaborate food; its mingled African, European, and Native influences. It triggered a cascade of memories, a gallery of impressions and associations that only appears when one has lived away from home for a long time.
In the midst of that serendipitous experience, I reached a milestone for any brewer: visiting a hop farm for the first time. In spite of being a few degrees north of what is considered a suitable latitude for cultivation, the state of Santa Catarina foresees a harvest of 10 tons of hops in 2022, according to the Agricultural Research and Rural Extension Company of Santa Catarina (EPAGRI). As the industry expands further, those figures are only likely to increase in the coming years.
Fingers sticky with lupulin goodness, olfactory receptors saturated, and brain full of technical information courtesy of farmer and guide Rodrigo, I left with a Columbus hop flower as my souvenir. I brought it with me as evidence of what these improbable and resonant lands are about to offer to the brewing industry of the region, and what it will mean for all of us who live and work here.
