We're Sun Dog Hops, pleasure to meet you

In a few weeks, about 1,000 hop rhizomes will land on my doorstep and the reality of my long, strange journey from newspaper reporter to farmer will have officially begun. Like a first-time father, I've been planning for my baby hops to arrive for nine months. I've read the books, attended the classes and I finally feel (at least a little bit) prepared for this latest adventure.

Still, as I look out my window in the first week of March, it's obvious that while my rhizomes may be ready, my slice of Wisconsin turf may not be. There's about two feet of snow on the field, and much more than that in some of the drifts:

In anticipation of the long, fun growing season to come, I'm launching this blog. I hope to make it a place for learning about hops, craft beer and life on the farm. I also want it to serve as a record of my mistakes and successes in building a hop yard. That way, my dear reader, you won't be doomed to repeat them.

At this point, you may be asking yourself, "So, who is this guy and why do I care what he thinks?" You might also add, "What business does a reporter have farming hops?" Or even, "What the hell is a hop?"

I guess a little introduction is in order: Call me Adam. Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse and nothing particular to interest me in the south, I thought I would move about a little and see the snowy part of the world (and steal from Melville). With my wife, Morgan, and my yellow dog, Emma, we purchased a 40-acre farm in River Falls, Wis. With its tin roofs, red barn, strands of crisp looking birch trees, and fields blanketed in prairie grass and wildflowers, the farm was beautiful in its own right:

It had been a labor of love for the previous owners, and so it would be for us. We decided that to live on land and to not improve upon it was, in the most basic sense, wrong. And what better way to improve upon a farm than to fill it with plants and animals again?

The granary, which once housed lawn furniture and an old wood stove, is now the home of three rowdy chickens (two of whom may actually be roosters). In the spring, an additional 20 egg-layers will be moving in. Our field, which seemed to only be growing ticks last summer, will soon be planted with corn or soybeans courtesy of a neighbor-farmer. My wife has picked out a half-acre spot near the composter we built last autumn to start her vegetable garden.

And then there is me. With the help of my father-in-law, whose expertise in all things I'm not naturally good at makes this venture possible, there will soon be 100 hop poles standing in the field. Felled from the pines growing on our property, the poles will be the sturdy bones to support our climbing bines of Centennial, Cascade and Nugget hops. It's going to be a beautiful sight to see.

Sun Dog Hops, we're calling it. We'll be growing, drying and packaging our locally-raised hops for your locally-brewed beer. Why sun dog? A sun dog, or parhelion, is a luminous ring or halo around the sun during the winter months which forms when sunlight reflects off of ice particles in the air. They are  beautiful, majestic and unique to the north, all qualities that we hope to instill in our hops. I spotted this one in January and it inspired the name for our business. You can almost imagine the halo giving a warm embrace to our future hop yard on a very cold (20 below zero) morning:

Pretty, huh? So check back here for information about hops, brewing and for tips of setting up a yard. I'll also strive to share any information I gather from hop conferences and events. Coming soon: highlights from the Wisconsin Extension's Hop Production in Craft Brew Industry class, which was held at Great Dane Pub in Wausau on March 1.

Thanks for reading.

Adam