The anxiety typically hit as the car descended Exit 5, off Route 89 North in Williamstown, Vermont. Another 30 minutes of winding Vermont backroads lay ahead, and those Thursday morning trips to the Warren Store were all about timing. Hit some traffic, leave a bit too late, or, like a friend of mine, get pulled over for driving too fast, and you might be coming home empty-handed.
With the exception of sporadic pop-ups at the local farmer’s market, the Warren Store was quite literally the only place to purchase beers made by Lawson’s Finest Liquids. There was always a legit chance you’d miss it.
Lawson’s Finest Liquids, and specifically its ubiquitous Double IPA, Sip of Sunshine, can be found everywhere from gas stations to bodegas these days, but in the early 2010s, it was shrouded in mystery. Owner/brewer Sean Lawson, rumored by self-proclaimed insiders to be a cantankerous hermit, hand-delivered a small allotment once a week.
“[The former owner] knew everyone around,” says Rin Merrick, who runs the deli at the Warren Store and was there in its heyday as Lawson’s sole purveyor. “People would come up, mostly from out of state, but some locals, and there would be this big line.”
Located on the banks of the Mad River, the Warren Store is a quintessential New England rural general store. Benches and tables in front of the white, columned facade beckon visitors to enjoy an egg sandwich on a freshly baked croissant and a coffee with a copy of the Burlington Free-Press. Upstairs, there is clothing, locally made soaps, and souvenir toys for sale.
The cars parked outside the store every week in those early morning hours displayed a litany of license plates from across the region, idling with the heat blasting against the Vermont chill. On warmer days, we’d lean against our cars, making small talk with strangers while silently plotting to beat them to the front of the line.
“Sometimes it was annoying,” admits Merrick. “People would line up out the door and we’d always hope it was for sandwiches, but they just wanted beer.” Still, she says, it ended up a net positive when shoppers would stay for breakfast or lunch.
The more gauche among us would ask explicitly, “When’s Lawson’s coming?” The rest of us feigned ignorance while waiting on our breakfast sandwiches, as if to say, “Oh, wow, a beer delivery? I guess I’ll wait around.”
When the delivery rounded the corner, we’d walk a little faster, but not too fast. We didn’t want to seem too eager, despite having just driven multiple hours for a shot at a few bottles of beer, and we usually didn’t even know what kind. Maybe inside the truck was an IPA, like Chinooker’d or Hopzilla. It could be Knockout Blonde, or perhaps something made with Vermont’s favorite ingredient, like Maple Tripple, brewed with maple syrup in place of water (yes, you read that correctly).
Regardless of the haul, there was instant craft beer credibility. There existed no higher status of drinker than to call a friend with an invite to drink some Lawson’s. Today, the Warren Store still stocks Lawson’s beers alongside other Vermont brands like Upper Pass and Burlington Beer Company. “They always know the beer is going to be here,” says Merrick.
These days, the latest IPA releases don’t make my heart skip a beat, nor is driving for hours for a limited allotment of beers an endeavor I aspire to anymore, but there was something special about the community of those days. We were part of something that wasn’t even something yet, and it began for many of us at a small Vermont general store.
Words by Matt Osgood