Here we go: a post of genuine gratitude and excitement that skirts the edges of a commercial advertisement. I recognize this and honestly, I don’t care. I believe in Adam, his work, and the idea that we benefit from investing in small business, especially those that cater to such specific wants and/or needs. So I ask that you focus on what I’m writing and what he’s saying, rather than anticipating a “But wait! There’s more!” moment. And without further time wasted, I present to you:
“The years have passed like swift draughts of sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the west.”
-J.R.R. Tolkien (The Lord of the Rings)
Mead comes with a history as diverse and intricate as the cultures that drank and drink it. It’s been called Ambrosia, Nectar of the Gods, bringing immortality, virility, and poetry in the form of a sweet, golden potion. The Greeks believed it descended from Heaven in the form of dew before being gathered by the bees. The Celts, in their own idea of Heaven, meandered down a river made of it. Vikings carried to the halls of Valhalla were greeted by lusty Furies bearing it by the jug-full. There they would raise their drinking horns to Thor, Odin, and Beowulf, who were basking in their own jug just a few chairs down.
And Conan mixed it with the blood of his enemies.
Alright. Maybe not that last part. But you get the idea.
It’s the sort of drink that practically weaponizes manliness. A thick stew that stuck to your ribs, held tight in fingers calloused from fire and violence while at the same time cultivating a soft, divine transcendence the likes of which have inspired entire religions. A drink that imbues your very marrow with the lost histories of entire dynasties. In your bones you feel the echoes of a cultural staple that spread through Africa, Europe, and parts of Asia. It fills you with the lives of peasants, kings, and anyone between.
Nectar of the motherfucking Gods.
Obviously, I’d never had mead before.
Until, that is, a friend of mine handed me two bottles of his own.
For me to begin discussing what he gave me, I think I should preface the man himself. Adam Daughhetee is not intimidating at first glance. His knuckles don’t drag and his eyes don’t go wild with bloodlust at memories of violence. He genuinely listens when you speak, has no contempt in his voice or demeanor, and tends to “dork out” with controlled abandon. And what’s more, he’s a consummate humanist. This is also where some of his strength lies.
I met Adam roughly a decade ago at a local comic book shop, where we would discuss the wild ideas found in the vivid pages surrounding us. The writers, artists, and characters were all fair game, torn down or held aloft by our own standards and dreams. I could tell immediately that he was the sort of person that, when stumbling upon something interesting, would dive into the information to fully understand its make-up. For those familiar with “Stranger in a Strange Land,” to “grok” it. Anyone that pours themselves into something with such fervor is a good person to know.
It was only a matter of time before he would create something of his own; an homage to a medium that had helped define us all. That became the Dollar Bin podcast that you can find here: http://www.thedollarbin.net/
At a relatively young age, he’d already begun to create, rather than simply watch. As of the date of this writing, the podcast number is episode 363, each with a humorous, but educated bent. Running the gamut from famous writers and artists to Kickstarter hopefuls, all perspectives are welcome. That’s another strength of his. Objectivity and pragmatism.
This mentality is shared by his wife, Shawn, who is equally capable, supportive and pragmatic. Theirs is a relationship on which I’d put money, which speaks volumes given today’s matrimonial climate. Together they share an exploration into the miasma of variables that is the comic book industry, synergizing a fascination that is both rare and inspiring. There’s no perceivable reticence for the future. Only wonder and joy and hope. So… he’s got that going for him as well.
Indeed Adam is not an intimidating man… until you get to know him.
And recently he’s begun another project, which will prove great news for all of us.
You guessed it, true believers!
Behold!
Nectar, my friends. Nectar.
Looks enticing, right?! Well you’re in luck, as you can order yours here:
And let me tell you: It’s delicious.
Nothing like I had imagined, granted, but often the best things in life don’t play off of your imaginings.
The feeling of histories did, indeed, come to mind, but those imagined through the rose-colored glasses of romantic reminiscence. The sort so often (this case included) based entirely in fiction. And I’m totally alright with that. No bouillabaisse of viking lore, the sort you toss down your gullet as though you’re in a hurry to get wasted, chunks of fruit teetering on the verge of rot spilling down a throat sore from war-cries, but light, with thin layers of honey that one could only justify sipping. I’m not saying pinky-out, but you won’t be tipping up the bottle to raucous applause. This further reinforces that mead is not something you necessarily drink alone, but in the company of those with whom you want to share experiences. And when served slightly chilled, it is a perfect dessert wine whose pairings are myriad.
Adam has, again, used his surroundings to bring people together. And having spoken to him, there’s no doubt why that is.
“To me mead is family. Mead is friends and companionship. It's camaraderie. It's sitting around and telling stories. It's music and dancing. I know this sound corny and fantastical, but when we started Wandering Bard Meadery we thought a lot about what mead meant to us.”
When he says “us,” he means himself and Brian Daughhetee, Adam’s uncle and the linchpin to the entire enterprise.
These magnificent bastards… Brian on the left, Adam at right.
“I had actually approached him a few years prior to us opening Wandering Bard about opening a meadery. Brian shrugged my scheme off, but it definitely planted the seed in his head. When he brought that hobby mead to Shoeless Brewing Company for everyone to try and received such great feedback, I kinda just looked at him and nodded. A week later we were looking for a location and a name."
I love this part. What’s in a name, after all? But the flippant avoidance of giving a name credence (that which we call a rose…) is just existential masturbation. Names are important. This is how they got theirs:
“We thought about life and how mead intertwined with our own stories. Brian started making mead in 1990. I remember him sharing it with friends and family. I may have had a sip or two myself. I remember Brian traveling to the west coast to live, then back to our hometown, then west, then east again. Always wandering to find that home. He played music much of his life. He was a saxophone player through high school and college. I learned to play saxophone on one of his old altos. Music is very important to us and our well-being. Our grandfather was a great poet. He wrote many volumes over his many years even long after he was blind. We, friends and family, used to sit around and read his poems out loud, laughing and crying. We are all storytellers in our own way and as silly as it sounds, mead is storytelling for us.”
And with that, Wandering Bard Meadery was born.
Now, I won’t fully go into the laundry list of their ever-evolving inventory, though I will mention a few that stand out. For starters, their flagship is a semi-sweet, semi-dry mead that brings to the forefront an every-man (or every-woman) drink, where balance fits most situations. But they do venture off the beaten path. From spicy Carolina Reaper to cool Elderberry, tea-infused to American Toasted Oak, they personify the openness of an ever changing landscape that can only be found by their namesake.
Because mead is not just defined by one context. It isn’t just a wine whose foundations are riddled with myth and legend. It’s more than ambrosia, nectar of the gods, a tincture that has inspired song and story throughout the history of man. It’s more than the past or present, but rather a social catalyst whose nature soothes hardship, brings about cohesion, and allows us an opportunity to create of it whatever we choose. In other words, it’s part of our future. With this in mind, those who acknowledge and put this style of endeavor on a pedestal are the same people that make life more bearable.
So this is me raising a glass to warriors great and small, to societies doing their best in a world built on violence, to the poets, the bards, the artists, and more. To kings and peasants and all those in between. And, of course, this is me raising a glass to Adam.
Well done, old boy.
Or as the vikings would say: “SKOL!!!”