One way or another, impressions affect us. I recently saw Chamomile & Whiskey in concert and soon after, discovered a song of theirs with the lyric, "everything you love leaves you too soon." It's a reminder to make the best of the moments. If you need help finding the beauty in the fact that all of life is fleeting, pour a dram of your rarest find and take a listen to Impressions:
While I was waiting for the chance to meet up with the distiller's edition again, I remembered that I had a small, single-dram bottle of Lagavulin 16 hiding in the shadows of my shelves somewhere. I decided it was time to give this lad a second chance. Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot, and besides - I might be able to discern a thing or two about the family and get some insights into his brother.
Lag 16's nose had a distinctive peaty bacon and strong earthiness to it. At first taste, while I still found him sweet, there was a rough edge to his profile that I didn't remember. I was patient with the conversation this time, and let him open up slowly.
At first, I noticed a sweet woodsy flavor, and a bit of pine. Soon after, a bitter note brushed alongside my awareness. These flavors mingled with a creamy sensation and the spectacular synergy of these elements left me in wonder.
Adding water brought to mind a sea-breeze of salty foam and a bit of heat. Lag 16 was sweet but not overbearingly so, as I remembered.
I had missed all of these complexities in my first meeting with this lad, but I was glad to be experiencing them the second time around. Perhaps I have changed, and thus my perspective is different. Either way, these new layers and flavors were in sync with the season; the fresh earthiness of this fellow reflected the stirrings of Spring.
While I sipped on the spirit inside the walls of my home, the natural world outside was coming alive after its winter slumber. Seeds (that look nothing like the plants they will become) break open into a whole new manifestation of themselves. Sprouts turn into buds or seedlings, and even these cannot always inform us of what is to come. These declarations of growth may go entirely unnoticed, unless you dare to take a second look. The emergence of life in Spring time is rife with miracle.
Yet inherent within this miracle, and in all life and new beginnings is the promise of death and endings. It's a side of things we don't usually like to consider, but it's the one promise that will always drive home the importance of appreciation.
The Chamomile & Whiskey song begins with the line: "The sweetness on the breeze from the flowers in bloom, so pretty with you today, they'll be gone in June - darlin' we're all the same way..."
Not only are the flowers short-lived, comparatively - but our own time to experience them is, as well. And yet that awareness brings a heaviness that can also take away from our enjoyment.
There needs to be a balance, and the delicate blooms are a perfect metaphor of that fine and fragile line between appreciation and disregard.
With the season of new beginnings on my mind, I turned my attention back to the whiskey. Lagavulin 16 bloomed in the glass into a full, round flavor of pepper, blackberry and fruitiness. When I first met this lad, I had heard much about him, and I took for granted that he was quite popular. In contrast, when I met his brother, the 8 year - I knew that he might not be around for a while. I wonder if that awareness helped me appreciate him more than I may have otherwise.
Perhaps. The depth of mystery will go as deep as you want it to. But perhaps some things are just a matter of perspective, a trick of the light, or a chance of impression. Sometimes - maybe more times than not - it all comes down to the timing of how and when we see a thing.
I finished off the last sip of Lagavulin 16, enjoying him in a way I never would have expected. As I reveled in the fading impressions of the fantastic flavor mix on my tongue, I was grateful for the impermanence of things - especially first impressions.
At first, I noticed a sweet woodsy flavor, and a bit of pine. Soon after, a bitter note brushed alongside my awareness. These flavors mingled with a creamy sensation and the spectacular synergy of these elements left me in wonder.
Adding water brought to mind a sea-breeze of salty foam and a bit of heat. Lag 16 was sweet but not overbearingly so, as I remembered.
I had missed all of these complexities in my first meeting with this lad, but I was glad to be experiencing them the second time around. Perhaps I have changed, and thus my perspective is different. Either way, these new layers and flavors were in sync with the season; the fresh earthiness of this fellow reflected the stirrings of Spring.
While I sipped on the spirit inside the walls of my home, the natural world outside was coming alive after its winter slumber. Seeds (that look nothing like the plants they will become) break open into a whole new manifestation of themselves. Sprouts turn into buds or seedlings, and even these cannot always inform us of what is to come. These declarations of growth may go entirely unnoticed, unless you dare to take a second look. The emergence of life in Spring time is rife with miracle.
Yet inherent within this miracle, and in all life and new beginnings is the promise of death and endings. It's a side of things we don't usually like to consider, but it's the one promise that will always drive home the importance of appreciation.
The Chamomile & Whiskey song begins with the line: "The sweetness on the breeze from the flowers in bloom, so pretty with you today, they'll be gone in June - darlin' we're all the same way..."
Not only are the flowers short-lived, comparatively - but our own time to experience them is, as well. And yet that awareness brings a heaviness that can also take away from our enjoyment.
There needs to be a balance, and the delicate blooms are a perfect metaphor of that fine and fragile line between appreciation and disregard.
With the season of new beginnings on my mind, I turned my attention back to the whiskey. Lagavulin 16 bloomed in the glass into a full, round flavor of pepper, blackberry and fruitiness. When I first met this lad, I had heard much about him, and I took for granted that he was quite popular. In contrast, when I met his brother, the 8 year - I knew that he might not be around for a while. I wonder if that awareness helped me appreciate him more than I may have otherwise.
Perhaps. The depth of mystery will go as deep as you want it to. But perhaps some things are just a matter of perspective, a trick of the light, or a chance of impression. Sometimes - maybe more times than not - it all comes down to the timing of how and when we see a thing.
I finished off the last sip of Lagavulin 16, enjoying him in a way I never would have expected. As I reveled in the fading impressions of the fantastic flavor mix on my tongue, I was grateful for the impermanence of things - especially first impressions.
