whiskey distillery

This is from the 13th.

  • In NH, I think, my family was running a distillery making some kind of whiskey, but with maybe a more fruity flavor. We were presenting on it to a group of people of various ages in a wood-paneled, low-ceilinged, darkened function room (with daylight coming from the south part of the east wall, which was the only wall with windows; the doors to the room were on the south wall; we were standing near the west end of the north wall). The distillery itself was in a fresh unpainted-wood barn with translucent skylights at the southeast end of a field with a road along the east side (similar to ours IRL but not quite the same); there seemed also to be another barn at the northeast end of the field, because at one point on a sunny midday I was standing in its doorway looking toward the distillery barn, while, I think, my dad was talking to somebody else from town who had dropped by in his pickup truck.
  • I woke up in NH at about 6AM one day, just because, and was reminded that the Run for the Honey was that morning, which I had forgotten about; but I was up early enough on the day to run it anyway, and I happened to be well-prepared for it from recent runs.
  • In my notes, an additional line with a lone hyphen abided, suggesting an additional dream memory that is now lost to the sands of time.
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