Oldie
Looking out to L'Archeveque Harbour from the old carriage house hill -
boats all up - cranberries ripening - and a cold breeze telling me that
it is getting time to leave for home. And every time I do I get that
strange gone-ness feeling of leaving friends and a way of life as if I
were born to it behind, perhaps for the last time.
an old post - my first, back in March of 2012, though the photograph is from 2008 - and how the forest has moved in, in the intervening years -
Glenfiddich - Fire & Cane
I stopped at a local liquor store today to purchase an inexpensive single malt - Loch Lomond, which I have written about before - and the Glenfiddich pictured to the left caught my eye. No age mentioned (but by regulation it must be at least three years old) and an Alc by vol of 43%. The malt master added peat to the Glenfiddich process, matured the whisky in Bourbon casks and then finished it off in Latin rum casks which has given the finished product a distinctive flavour for a Glenfiddich. I did not buy the Fire & Cane but wanted to think about it for a while as part of the anticipation process of trying a fine malt but will give my 'man-in-the-street' to you when I do so. For now here is the word from the distillery:
"Glenfiddich Fire & Cane is a bold fusion of smoky and sweet notes. By marrying peated whisky and malts matured in bourbon barrels, and then finishing in Latin rum casks, we created an exquisite whisky with campfire smokiness and toffee sweetness." re/
https://www.glenfiddich.com/collection/experimental-series/fire-and-cane/
also you might like to check out this site:
End of Season - IV
From shivering mist ascends the morning,
The bustle, of the fields declines,
The wolf walks now upon the highway,
In wolfish hunger howls and whines;
The traveller's pony scents him, snorting--
The heedful wanderer breathless takes
His way in haste beyond the mountains!
And though no longer when day breaks
Forth from their stalls the herd begins
To drive the kine,--his noon-day horn recalls.
The peasant maiden sings and spins,
Before her crackling, flaming bright
The pine chips,--friend of Winter night.
The bustle, of the fields declines,
The wolf walks now upon the highway,
In wolfish hunger howls and whines;
The traveller's pony scents him, snorting--
The heedful wanderer breathless takes
His way in haste beyond the mountains!
And though no longer when day breaks
Forth from their stalls the herd begins
To drive the kine,--his noon-day horn recalls.
The peasant maiden sings and spins,
Before her crackling, flaming bright
The pine chips,--friend of Winter night.
The Coming Of Winter by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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