Happy Washington’s Birthday. A new beer god is born.

The latest home brew: Ready to sip, with sunset and pretzels.

YES, THAT HEADLINE SAYS “BEER GOD.” If you can’t hyperbolate in your own blog, when can you hyperbolate?

Part of making the transition to a new life in which one doesn’t set the alarm clock is the unearthing of skills long hidden behind the veil of working for a paycheck. As loyal Reefers* (*see blog title) know, home brewing has been an aspiration of mine for almost half the years I’ve been aspirating. Only now did I get around to it.

The first effort was a flop. Unwelcome bacterial beasties apparently got in to my batch of Nutty Nuthatch Brown English Ale, rendering it sour and unpleasant.

Second time around I was absolutely obsessive about sanitizing every bottle and piece of equipment — two or three times — and it paid off.

Last evening I popped the cap on my first longneck of Nuthatch Brewing’s Chinook Way Full-Hopped IPA. And I’m not too shy to tell you it was spicily, amberly, artisanally, intoxicatingly good.

Notes of cinnamon and caramel blended with the light flowery scent of the Chinook hops that are partly responsible for the beer’s name. The other factor is that “Chinook Way” is the name of the modest one-lane gravel road above which our Nuthatch cabin perches. (Somebody apparently once had overly grand ideas for this tiny island, just as the founders of Anacortes long ago gave their city wide, wide avenues to accommodate the traffic that has only now arrived, or how Port Townsend was convinced it would become a bustling commercial seaport at the Pacific end of the transcontinental railroad.)

Announcing my brewing success on George’s birthday has a certain aptness. Fun fact for February 22: By the start of the 19th century our first president was one of the largest producers of whiskey in the United States.  (We magnates of the spirits industry believe in sharing the glory.)

So, I’m motivated to make another batch of beer. Who knows, maybe by the 22nd century Center Island will be the base of a giant American brewing empire.

And if “hyperbolate” — which I would define as “the overzealous application of hyperbole” — isn’t a word, it should be.

It would also make a good band name.