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Mead Dew

by Brewmaster

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1.
"The land was soft and trees were many. Creeks and lakes dotted our maps like the stars in the sky. I often regale the times spent as a child wandering those woods and hiding under a moss fallen tree as I heard my mother calling. Though nothing lasts forever, in times of darkness I always look to those memories." - Gertjan Windels, 1650
2.
"Tedious work and discipline. Those two words I feel describe the early years of my brotherhood in the monastery best. The colors of life had faded from striking greens and vivacious violets to dull grays and the bitterest browns. I spent many days doubting my station and hiding from the others in the lower cisterns--so much so that Brother Vanhoutte thought my talents would best be spent in the craft of brewing. The days were long and mostly in darkness. It reminded me of the work my mother would do with her herbs--though not as mending to the spirit. I can't recall if it was fate or intuition, but on the eve of my seventeenth birthday, I fled, running aimlessly into the forest at night, not in hopes of finding anything in particular--just to simply get away and find some respite from the monotony of my situation. I ran until I collapsed."- Gertjan Windels, 1650
3.
"Awakened by the soundings of birds and the morning dew upon my face, I began to feel the early touch of the silver sun. The silence of the natural world provides a perspective so lost in our busy lives that when thrown into or stumbling upon it, you feel an almost heightened encounter with your truest self--a self that wants only the ability to help others, the inner and outermost peace. I remember vaguely taking in water and some berries I found nearby, then walking a bit. What happened next I will never forget." - Gertjan Windels, 1650
4.
Gnomes 04:23
"I heard many a small voice and rustling beyond a gathering of flowered bushes. I quietly began my investigation, peering delicately beyond branch and twig, only to find something that to this day, I have told no one. In brightly woven linens, marched about twelve gnomes in a clearing. A tiny settlement with small houses, gardens, and even a workhouse was established by a slower flowing part of the creek where I had earlier found replenishment. To my surprise, when they noticed my presence, they did not run but instead approached with welcoming gazes. I saw in them a feeling I hadn't felt in years; their little white mustaches spread to their ears as the grins that lay gently beneath them signaled joy to be shared and friendships to be. I greeted them with my father's tongue, and while they replied with an older dictation, I could still make out the words. For hours we talked and greeted one another about the comings and goings of our clearly separate, but no-so-different worlds. Their appointed leader, Pellegrin, had especially taken a liking to me. For weeks I stayed in their company, and looking back at it now, their care. They restored a part of my spirit that had been missing for so long. After a while, on no particular day, when we were in the meadow, I observed them rolling out barrels from their workhouse. It would be the beginning of the rest of my life." - Gertjan Windels, 1650
5.
Mead Dew 03:02
"We all sat patiently in a circle as Pellegrin distributed charming acorn cups. A few of the other gnomes began tapping the barrels resulting in a cascade of glistening foam throughout the sunlit air. All cups were filled, with mine being last. A toast was then made. In my old age and forgetfulness, I rightly do not remember what was said, but what I was about to taste cannot escape my memory. Crisp and bubbling, with an effervescent wash of golden honey, the sparkling elixir began to tickle my senses with a grip so enrapturing that to this day, I fervently seek it's equal. They called it Mead Dew--a combination of honey, yeast, water and--an ingredient I have spent my whole life trying to find. We drank and danced joyously well into the night. With a great belly full of Mead Dew and berries, I lay beneath a blanket of leaves and stars. Awake, I began to tell Pellegrin my whole story. The part of my then young brewing experience was very intriguing to him. I asked if he could teach me how to brew in the grand standard of the gnomes. His gaze turned pale as he turned to me." - Gertjan Windels, 1650
6.
"Pellegrin explained to me how they were the last of the gnomes in this or any land. He had not had contact with any of his kind in many long years. 'In the recent times, we have begun to dwindle in numbers as well,' he explained. I did not understand then what he was saying, but I wish I had said more to him in return. Pellegrin took out his flute and began to play the song of his people. How I wish I could hear it now. It put me into a right deep sleep. When I awoke, there were no sounds of birds or laughter, only the gentle wind passing though the trees as grey skies wondered overhead. When I sat up, I saw no sign of my new friends. The houses and gardens were gone. The barrels and cups evanesced. There was nothing, or so seemed to be, save a small scroll tied by a pale blue linen. My heart was never full again." - Gertjan Windels, 1650
7.
"When I opened the scroll, I was met with the last hint of the Mead Dew aroma. Written on the parchment was the last known recipe for the gnomish brew. Though it was missing some key ingredients and some things were smudged out, there was much to work with. I felt in myself what I feel to this day--a sense of duty to provide the best ale possible--the closest thing to the nectar of the old world and its magical beings--the lost healing potion of forgotten times. With this task instilled upon me, I made my return journey to the Moorlehem Monastery. When I arrived, I wasn't well received except for by Brother Vanhoutte. I explained for hours my journey and recent enlightenment, expecting nothing but mockery and reprimand in return. Instead, I was met with the glowing look of someone who truly also wanted to create something that had been lost in their own world. I soonafter had repented and made peace with the rest of my peers, and after many months of lower duties, I was returned to my station in the cistern where I began to craft my very first signature brew. Five weeks to the day of my return to the cistern, I had completed every step I could interpret from Pellegrin's manuscript. I dipped my ladle into the frothing mixture and took a sip. It was as pure as anything I had tasted from the hands of man--bright in color with hues of amber silk that was followed by bubbles as numerous as the stars in the heavens--a near perfect mixture. I bottled it and let it sit for a few more weeks until the time was just right. On a quiet evening, I gathered everyone into the hall and released the cork. Brother Vanhoutte and the others were without words. After a while, they asked what I called it. It's name is Gurmir Ged...and that means "Kinship." We all began to dance." - Gertjan Windels, 1650

about

On a windswept rainy evening in 1589, Gertjan Windels was born in the small village of Alveringem Belgium. His father was a farmer of the flemish lands and his mother owned an apothecary. From a young age Gertjan was enthralled by the natural growing of things and their healing properties. Growing up with fairytales of gnomes and other mythical creatures he would often be found out in the wood in search of them. On his 10th birthday however his life would change forever.. He was sent by his family to the monastery Moorlehem. There he would study for many years but always having a heart towards the mythical tales he once knew as a child..
He spent years learning the art of brewing ale to provide for the local villages. The brews were bitter and thin but provided a safe drinking alternative to the polluted water of the time. Eventually he could take no more of the monotonous prayers and teachings, and on his seventeenth birthday he ran away into the woods.
This is an account of what he found…

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released January 13, 2023

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Brewmaster Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The untold tales of Brewmaster Gertjan Windels & his rise from apprenticeship to the formation of the Trappist Order.

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