Misty Bleu Farm Blog

About Misty Bleu Farm

Misty Bleu Farm is located in beautiful Washington County, New York at the head of the Black Creek ValleyMisty Bleu Farm produces hops for the R.S. Taylor & Sons Brewery.

Located on 50 acres in the heart of the Hebron Hills, Misty Bleu Farm is the home of R.S. Taylor & Sons Brewery.  The Brewery and Taproom are open to the public Wednesday through Friday from 4:00 pm to 9:00 pm, Saturday and Sunday 12 noon to 9:00 pm.  Come experience true field to glass farm-brewed beer at our farm, nestled among green hills and stunning natural beauty.  Our farm boasts over 600 feet of frontage on the West Branch of the Black Creek, with waterfalls and rushing cascades.  Tours of the brewery and grounds are available.  The Farm and Brewery are also available to be rented out for special events.  Please visit the brewery website, www.rstaylorbrewing.com for more details and directions.

Follow our journey as we create the Most Beautiful Farm Brewery in America!

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Take Joy

Misty Bleu Farm - Wednesday, January 13, 2016

I salute you!  There is nothing I can give you which you have not; but there is much that, while I cannot give, you can take. 

No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today.  Take Heaven.

No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present instance.  Take Peace.

The Gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet within our reach is joy.  Take Joy!

And so, at this Christmastime, I greet you, with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away....

                                                                                                           Fra Giovanni, A.D. 1513


The Mysterious Tale of Mr. Crane the final installment

Misty Bleu Farm - Thursday, October 01, 2015

R.S. never saw his friend Mr. Crane alive again.  Just a few short days later, on All Hollows Eve, working late into the night, Crane had decided to sleep at his desk in town.  When Mr. Marley discovered his sleeping employee when doing his nightly rounds, he rudely kicked Crane out into the street, without his coat and hat.  A shivering Mr. Crane was spotted at the base of Callaway Road by the good doctor returning in his brougham from a late night sick call. 

He yelled to Crane to come to his carriage for a ride, but a wild-eyed Crane scurried frantically away into the night.  At that juncture, he was less than a mile from his home.

R.S. rode his horse the next morning to see what could not be believed by hearing alone.  The doctor was there amongst the crowd, but his expertise was not needed to declare Mr. Crane dead.  That was plain for all to see.  There he lay, in his own dooryard, hands crossed over his chest, with his head neatly severed and replaced by a jack-o-lantern, with the tallow candle still sputtering inside.  All around poor Mr. Crane's body, in the dust, were the shoe prints of a massive horse.

No satisfactory explanation could ever be put forth as to what exactly had happened to poor Mr. Crane.  His life and death stitched forever into the fabric of local lore.  But in the years since, R.S. brews a special beer this time of year to commemorate the life and death of a one Mr. Crane, a man whose final days remain shrouded in mystery. 

We hope you enjoyed our spooky serialized farm tale!  Mr. Crane's Stupendous and Sublime Spiced Pumpkin ale will be on tap at the farm tap room beginning this Friday, October 2nd!  We hope you enjoy it!

The Mysterious Tale of Mr. Crane Part Three

Misty Bleu Farm - Tuesday, September 29, 2015

The October day dawned bright, sunny and warm.  A perfect fall day of the sort one dreams of when contemplating the pleasures of autumn.  R.S. was tending to his horse, when he saw Mr. Crane, once again, walking up the sweep.

"Good day to you, Mr. Crane!" he called out.  He noticed, even from a distance, that Crane's clothes did not hang quite right from his frame.  He looked gaunt, with eyes that appeared sunken back into his skull.  Crane approached, carrying his growler, now divested of its liquid contents.  "Looking for a refill, are you Crane?"

"Yes, R.S.  I am in desperate need of some fermented spirits to calm my nerves.  I am afraid I was not quite forthcoming with you on my last visit, you see.  I lead you to believe I was just having nightmares, but the truth is I have been terrorized by a figure that follows me home every night from town.  I know now it is not a fever dream but reality.  This morning I saw the horse shoe prints in the middle of Callaway Road."

"Some men here the other night spoke of you seeing a ghost.  What is this nonsense?  Look Crane, you cannot give these types fuel for their fires.  They will mock you endlessly.  They consider it good sport, you know."

"But that's just it, "Crane replied.  "I think I really did see a ghost.  The figure that plagues me so, you see, is headless."

Standing in the bright sun, Crane's statement sounded impossible, lunatic even.  Frantic ravings from a scared little man.  "Crane, I'm sure there's a rational explanation for all of this, and I have a feeling that explanation lies with those boys from up past Belcher.  They know you walk that road all hours of the night alone.  They know what kind of hours Marley makes you keep."

Crane explained, "I cannot see how the boys in Belcher could have anything to do with this.  How can they make a giant black stallion simply appear and disappear out of thin air at will?  They do not possess magic, for the love of God!  This is not of this earth, I tell you!"

Crane's whole body seemed to convulse at this point.  The poor thing, R.S. thought, what will disabuse him of this notion?  "Come partake of a pint of my oatmeal stout to calm your nerves and sit beside me in the cool autumn sun a bit.  Perhaps we can talk of less strange days."

Stay tuned for the final installment of "The Mysterious Tale of Mr. Crane" and to find out when Mr. Crane's Stupendous and Sublime Spiced Pumpkin Ale will go on tap!

The Mysterious Tale of Mr. Crane Part Two

Misty Bleu Farm - Friday, September 25, 2015


A few nights later, a boisterous crowd had assembled in the tap room.  It was mostly a hard-scrabble lot from up in the backwoods in Belcher and beyond.  R.S. happened to overhear Crane's name bantered about the table and came over to give the men a what-for. 

"Pray, gentlemen, tell me you are not giving our good neighbor and friend Mr. Crane any more grief than he already has.  You know his lot in life.  I do not wish to hear him spoken ill of, what with no family or wife to call his own.  He is a good soul."

VonBrunt, the boldest of the group, looked up from his pint and burst out, "But R.S., he says he saw a ghost on Callaway Road the night of the last full moon - a headless ghost on horseback, no less!  Why he must've gotten into some of old man Irving's moonshine and dreamt up the whole thing!"  The table then erupted in laughter as everyone knew Irving's home-distilled imbibements were practically undrinkable.

"He wouldn't have seen a ghost, in fact, he wouldn't have seen anything.  He would have went blind drinking that stuff!" shouted another.  And with that, another round of guffaws rose from the men.  R.S. turned away, worried for Mr. Crane.  He knew the men just wanted a bit of harmless sport, but the poor soul was taunted enough in town as it was.  He did not wish to see Crane's torment increased.  R.S. took a pint from the draught and settled down with his moody thoughts.

Installment No. 3 to be released next week.  Stay tuned...


The Mysterious Tale of Mr. Crane Part One

Misty Bleu Farm - Monday, September 21, 2015



It was a dark and stormy October night.  A steady, chill rain tapped at the windowpanes.  R.S., safe and snug in the cozy tap room, contemplated closing early for the evening.  The clock had not quite chimed seven and the place was aglow with candles and golden firelight.  As R.S. peered out the rain-streaked window once more before closing up, he spied a dark figure coming up the sweep.

"Oh well," he mused, "a few more moments of my time and at least I shall make one sale this night."  R.S. waited anxiously to see who would venture out on such a night as this. The polished mahogany door slowly creaked open, and a fleeting chill ran up R.S.'s spine as he saw the bony, white-knuckled hand clenching the knob.  In with a rush of water and leaves came a thin figure, clad all in soaking wet black.  A hat covered the creature's head and the dripping brim concealed his face.  As the head turned up, R.S. locked eyes with his neighbor, Mr. Ichabod Crane.

"Why, Mr. Crane!" R.S. exclaimed, "What are you doing out and about on a night such as this?  'Tis not fit for man or beast, as they say."  Just then, R.S. noticed the wide-eyed, frantic look in Mr. Crane's eyes and said softly, "What evil malady afflicts you, my poor soul?"

"I, I cannot say for sure, my good barkeep," Crane replied.  "I seem to be plagued of late with fever dreams.  They have terrorized me so ever since the last full moon.  You see, I had a bit of a fright a few nights back as I returned home from work."  Now, everyone in town knew of poor Mr. Crane's plight.  Crane, meek and mild, was a clerk in town for the penny-pinching Mr. Marley.  No one else in town would work for him, save Mr. Crane.  His treatment of Mr. Crane was quite ill.  Yet Mr. Crane's station in life was a poor one, so he kept his job with Marley & Marley, Msgrs.  R.S. imagined Crane was probably delirious with exhaustion after Marley kept him after hours.

"So then, Mr. Crane, you have come to partake in one of my ales, then, to cure you of your ills?"

"Why, yes sir, indeed I have.  I came straightaway from Mr. Marley's office.  I shall head home after this."

"I insist you do not travel further this evening, Crane.  You shall catch your death in weather such as this.  Let me get the mistress of our house to make you up a bed for the night."

"I could not impose.  I have just come for a growler of your fine Amber Ale and I shall be on my way."

"As you wish, Mr. Crane.  And I do believe in the restorative powers of imbibing in a well-crafted ale.  The Amber Ale is a fine choice for your this evening."

And with that, Mr. Crane paid what he owed and left the tap room.  R.S. watched the solemn figure fade into the gloom.  He extinguished the flames and retired for the evening.....

Please stay with us for Part 2 to be released next week.

The Patron Poet of Misty Bleu Farm

Misty Bleu Farm - Monday, September 14, 2015


To the lads and the lassies:

We have selected the Ploughman's Poet, the Scottish Robert Burns, as the Patron Poet of the farm and brewery.   And good ol' Robbie Burns is a perfect fit.   He's the author of Auld Lang Syne and Ode to a Mouse and A Red, Red, Rose - all classics.  He was a libertine, a louse, a drunkard and a womanizer of uncommon repute.  He was a chronicler of the mundane, the unsung, the unloved.  And he was brilliant.

Each year, his birthday is honored around the world at Burns' Night Dinners.  For the past three years, we have attended the dinner at Blantyre in Lenox, Mass.  And now we plan on having our own Burns' Night Dinner at the Brewery as a new tradition. This will be an invitation only event on the poet's birthday, right down to the cock-a-leekie soup, haggis and sticky toffee pudding.  Perhaps you'll make it on the guest list if you're very, very good or like Robbie very, very BAD!  Robbie's birthday is January 25th, so be on the lookout for this invitation only event at the Brewery.

And don't forget the Scotch ale!  There must always be Scotch ale on Burns' Night to keep the lads and lassies warm!

Thoreau's Bear Trap

Misty Bleu Farm - Tuesday, February 24, 2015

I am continually reading Henry David Thoreau's Walden at the farm.  I read some of it every night before I go to sleep.  Why, you may ask?  Because with each re-reading, I find something new.  I have never had this happen before with any other piece of writing.  I cannot explain it, but perhaps it is because it is so dense with ideas.  My mind cannot take them in all at once.  It's like a bear trap.

Henry David Thoreau writes in my favorite passage from Walden: 

"Why do precisely these objects which we behold make a world?  Why has man just these species of animals for his neighbors; as if nothing but a mouse could have filled this crevice?  I suspect that Pilpay & Co. have put animals to their best use, for they are all beasts of burden, in a sense, made to carry some portion of our thoughts."

Thoreau's consideration of the natural world was deep and encompassing, dare I say finely observed.  Unfortunately, the natural world's consideration of us is not reciprocal. We, as humans, have trouble coming to terms with this.  Perhaps Thoreau misses the point by even posing the question, rhetorical as it may be.  Why can nothing but a mouse fill this crevice?  Because nothing but a mouse could have filled it.  Plain and simple.  The mouse is uniquely suited for his environment, whether there be humans to witness it or not.  It is a Schrodinger's dog sort of question.

All the complexities of the machinery of the natural world are not ours to know. 

Thoreau on Housewarming

Misty Bleu Farm - Wednesday, February 11, 2015

...for even the wildest animals love comfort and warmth as well as man, and they survive the winter only because they are so careful to secure them.  Some of my friends spoke as if I was coming to the woods on purpose to freeze myself.  The animal merely makes a bed, which he warms with his body, in a sheltered place; but man, having discovered fire, boxes up some air in a spacious apartment, and warms that, instead of robbing himself, makes that his bed, in which he can move about divested of more cumbrous clothing, maintaining a kind of summer in the midst of winter, and by means of windows even admit the light, and with a lamp, lengthen out the day....

                                                "Housewarming", Walden, by Henry David Thoreau

Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation

Misty Bleu Farm - Wednesday, January 28, 2015


After two years of attending Burns' Dinners and keeping my mouth shut (quite a feat for me, eh?), I downed a few glasses of Scotch and a couple of glasses of wine and let it rip.

I chose "Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation" written by Robbie in 1796, ninety years after the Scotch parliament sold out Scottish independence to the British.  He was still seething about it then.

Such a Parcel of Rogues in a Nation

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory; Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, Sae fam'd in martial story.  Now Sark rins over Solway sands, An' Tweed rins to the ocean, To mark where England's province stands - Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue, Thro' many warlike ages, Is wrought now by a coward few, For hireling traitor's wages.  The English stell we could disdain, Secure in valour's station; But English gold has been our bane - Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O, would or I had seen the day That Treason thus could sell us, My auld grey head had lien in clay, Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!  But pith and power, till my last hour, I'll mak this declaration; We're bought and sold for English gold -

                                                               Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

Winter Memories

Misty Bleu Farm - Saturday, December 06, 2014

High in my chamber in the frosty nights,
When in the still light of the cheerful moon,
On every twig and rail and jutting spout,
The icy spears were adding to their length
Against the arrows of the coming sun.......

Henry David Thoreau.