I feel like telling a story.
I spent most of my morning outside at a farmer’s market. Since this pandemic hit, things have been uncertain and today we tried a new thing-a drive through market. My boss and I thought it would be a shit show...as it turns out, people were so happy, so excited and thrilled and full of hope; it seemed as though the world’s problems were far away. Except for the protocol that one of us handles money and does not touch the food, while the other hands the food to the customers, and the latex gloves we all wore, things were great. We made money, and people got fresh food.
After that, I hopped in the car and loaded a no-name Dublin-ish Briar with Irish Flake. Irish flake is one of those blends that I treasure, a long time favorite that always brings me back to a singular moment in time-sitting on a dock on a sunny day with two rods out, waiting for one of those extra dumb trout that Ohio stocks each spring to come by and bite. No one is around, which is an unusual circumstance. The trees are budding, flowers are poking out of the mud. I’m smoking Irish Flake and all is good with the world. Every time I see that jar in my cabinet, every time I get a whiff of Irish Flake I remember that moment. That’s why I picked Irish Flake for my drive home today. I needed a little comfort.
I took a left where the GPS would tell me to take a right. I crossed a bridge over the Cuyahoga River, just a mile or so downstream from where Captain Brady took his famous leap across the gorge, and bumped onto a back road, heading north, just as the ember seated itself in the pipe. In a minute, I was outside of town.
My old Toyota was running just fine, for having 242,000 on the odometer, two cross-country trips, and a lot of backcountry trail driving under it’s wheels. It’s gone from a semi-luxury vehicle, to a daily driver, to an old veteran than appreciates a light touch but will still hog through anything at a moment’s notice. The exhaust is full of holes and certain non-essential items have long since stopped working...who needs a left turn signal when you’ve got a perfectly good arm to stick out the window? Today, though, I was thankful that the heater still works. I was fighting a chill after the market.
The Irish Flake was just starting to wake up in my pipe as I turned down one of those chip and seal roads named after some early settler. That woody and floral Kentucky flavor that Irish Flake does so well, and in my well-aged sample, the darkly sweet VAs combined into the comforting smoke that I know so well.
I’ve been cooped up. I can’t play with the band...I really haven’t done anything except go to work and hang out at home while nursing a dull but ever present anxiety regarding Covid. Today was my first foray into a public space in about two weeks.
About the second half of the bowl, I slowed the car down to 20. I did a little elbow steering, dodging potholes while I shoved a cleaner into the pipe, a mid-smoke habit of mine that I think does some good. A quick mop up to clear things up for the main show.
I crossed another bridge over the Cuyahoga (the name means “Crooked River”), and crested a hill. I could see for miles, looking east-all the way into Pennsylvania. I thought in that moment, looking over the countryside, about all the bad news we’ve heard, about the uncertain future that lies ahead.
I turned down a familiar road, one that would take me home, and since I still had some smoking to do, I kept the speedometer around 15. I hadn’t seen another car on the road since leaving the city 30 minutes before.
The last 1/4 of a bowl is always the best I think. For me, Irish Flake gets tea-like notes behind all the big woody and smokey flavors, and a little sweeter towards the end. It could just be my mood lifting, though, cause by this time I’m in bliss and the trout are biting, the flowers are popping up and the earth is waking up.
I guess, long story short, is that these simple things-a pipe and some tobacco-can soothe us in ways that are pretty hard to describe to those who don’t partake. My smoke and drive today took me to a place that was comfortable and familiar, it erased my anxiety and helped put things in perspective, lifted my mood and tasted damn good. All from some burning leaf and a piece of wood. I think that’s pretty cool.
Stay well guys, thanks if you read this far. Sometimes I have to let out some words, and I’m thankful to have a place to put them.
I spent most of my morning outside at a farmer’s market. Since this pandemic hit, things have been uncertain and today we tried a new thing-a drive through market. My boss and I thought it would be a shit show...as it turns out, people were so happy, so excited and thrilled and full of hope; it seemed as though the world’s problems were far away. Except for the protocol that one of us handles money and does not touch the food, while the other hands the food to the customers, and the latex gloves we all wore, things were great. We made money, and people got fresh food.
After that, I hopped in the car and loaded a no-name Dublin-ish Briar with Irish Flake. Irish flake is one of those blends that I treasure, a long time favorite that always brings me back to a singular moment in time-sitting on a dock on a sunny day with two rods out, waiting for one of those extra dumb trout that Ohio stocks each spring to come by and bite. No one is around, which is an unusual circumstance. The trees are budding, flowers are poking out of the mud. I’m smoking Irish Flake and all is good with the world. Every time I see that jar in my cabinet, every time I get a whiff of Irish Flake I remember that moment. That’s why I picked Irish Flake for my drive home today. I needed a little comfort.
I took a left where the GPS would tell me to take a right. I crossed a bridge over the Cuyahoga River, just a mile or so downstream from where Captain Brady took his famous leap across the gorge, and bumped onto a back road, heading north, just as the ember seated itself in the pipe. In a minute, I was outside of town.
My old Toyota was running just fine, for having 242,000 on the odometer, two cross-country trips, and a lot of backcountry trail driving under it’s wheels. It’s gone from a semi-luxury vehicle, to a daily driver, to an old veteran than appreciates a light touch but will still hog through anything at a moment’s notice. The exhaust is full of holes and certain non-essential items have long since stopped working...who needs a left turn signal when you’ve got a perfectly good arm to stick out the window? Today, though, I was thankful that the heater still works. I was fighting a chill after the market.
The Irish Flake was just starting to wake up in my pipe as I turned down one of those chip and seal roads named after some early settler. That woody and floral Kentucky flavor that Irish Flake does so well, and in my well-aged sample, the darkly sweet VAs combined into the comforting smoke that I know so well.
I’ve been cooped up. I can’t play with the band...I really haven’t done anything except go to work and hang out at home while nursing a dull but ever present anxiety regarding Covid. Today was my first foray into a public space in about two weeks.
About the second half of the bowl, I slowed the car down to 20. I did a little elbow steering, dodging potholes while I shoved a cleaner into the pipe, a mid-smoke habit of mine that I think does some good. A quick mop up to clear things up for the main show.
I crossed another bridge over the Cuyahoga (the name means “Crooked River”), and crested a hill. I could see for miles, looking east-all the way into Pennsylvania. I thought in that moment, looking over the countryside, about all the bad news we’ve heard, about the uncertain future that lies ahead.
I turned down a familiar road, one that would take me home, and since I still had some smoking to do, I kept the speedometer around 15. I hadn’t seen another car on the road since leaving the city 30 minutes before.
The last 1/4 of a bowl is always the best I think. For me, Irish Flake gets tea-like notes behind all the big woody and smokey flavors, and a little sweeter towards the end. It could just be my mood lifting, though, cause by this time I’m in bliss and the trout are biting, the flowers are popping up and the earth is waking up.
I guess, long story short, is that these simple things-a pipe and some tobacco-can soothe us in ways that are pretty hard to describe to those who don’t partake. My smoke and drive today took me to a place that was comfortable and familiar, it erased my anxiety and helped put things in perspective, lifted my mood and tasted damn good. All from some burning leaf and a piece of wood. I think that’s pretty cool.
Stay well guys, thanks if you read this far. Sometimes I have to let out some words, and I’m thankful to have a place to put them.
