Way back amongst the heather, upon a sparse and lonely moor, stands a solitary and humble abode, its door cracked slightly ajar. The warmth of a peat wood fire and flickering candle light catch and hold weary travelers as surely as carnivorous plants trap members of the order Diptera.
Fear not however, for what hides inside will not in this life disappoint. Arthur Pendragon himself and all his knights would tope and rejoice in this wild strawberry so sweet. Gunpowder green tea, graphite, white pepper and sprigs of freshly plucked night-blossom scattered generously about the well-trodden path wander meanderingly down from the door to the deep ocher and umber waters of a calm and placid loch.
notes by Clay Selkirk, winemaker & all-around cowboy