One of life's principle joys is an unexpected bulldog. There you are, mind preoccupied and steps ahead of whatever you should be paying attention to in the moment you're actually living, and boom: giant smiley meatball of joy out of nowhere. How could that not improve any day? Last September, in the Before Times, I went to a Connecticut farm to find out about hop growing, and discovered a newborn brewery instead. At the time, Stewards Of The Land in Northford wasn't finished, not quite ready yet for the outside world. So now, just as the eyes of the world are cautiously blinking open again, I returned to sit on the farm brewery's patio and, yes, there was a bulldog.

I'm not just making an allegory here: Guinness (that's the name he came with, give head brewery Alex DeFrancesco more credit for creativity than that), was cooling off on the stone patio, set with chairs outside the New England tavern style brewery, above a field of sprouting row crops - the hillside and lawns swaying here and there with bluish stalks of heirloom rye. I squatted down and scruffled Guinness' huge head behind his ears. He had it right. This is a place to stretch out and relax.