For some time, being an artisan has appealed to Matt’s interests in science and creativity, as well as his desire to challenge the status quo. Why buy wine or beer off the shelf when you could craft your own? He was ready to revive this vital piece of his personal identity, starting with winemaking. Ten months prior, an attempt at brewing beer had been a rocky, foggy affair that had left me working long-distance with my other children to save a lukewarm, so-so concoction. Determined to avoid a repeat performance, I grilled Matt on the mechanics of the vine before we embarked in October 2020 on a stunning, 510-mile road trip through the peak autumn foliage of the Finger Lakes. Before picking up five gallons of wine juice from Fulkerson’s Winery on Seneca Lake, we paired the journey with wine tastings and a wonderful in-person lunch with his advisor, Dave.

The initial excitement quickly collided with the intricate, unforgiving chemistry of fermentation. Without his tried-and-true personal notes, a misguided internet search led us to add potassium metabisulfite—which promptly and ruthlessly killed our yeast. Frantic phone calls led us to a hidden-gem of a homebrew shop in Saratoga. There, a helpful proprietor identified the ingredient we wanted as pectic enzyme. Matt patiently stood alongside him, nodding along, instinctively agreeing with the gentleman’s lecture. Armed with fresh yeast, the additive, and a newfound understanding, we corrected the error, and within days, the primary carboy was bubbling away peacefully. As the months rolled on, the project became a beautiful exercise in executive function and patient monitoring. Matt took the initiative to track the calendar, deciding when to rack the wine, siphoning it between secondary carboys in November, December, and March to clear out the sediment and yeast lees.

Fueled by the fruit of his labor, Matt became an unstoppable brewing machine. By Spring, he was already deep into a round of Scottish "Wee Heavy." Not wanting Megan to miss out on sharing this joyous experience with her brother—or, guiltily, to give me a break—I recruited her to help him reconcile the conflicting instructions in the brew kit and his specialized "Mash & Boil" kettle. Despite the same annoying flashing error message that had plagued his first round, they were back in business within twenty minutes. After the requisite intermediary steps and fermentation, we uncapped the full-flavored Wee Heavy on May 26.

Unbeknownst to us, the little rascal immediately ordered another package. Exasperated, I declared, “No more beer for the foreseeable future!” If I had believed in boxing an adult child’s ears, there and then would have been the moment. And so, the barley beer was started within the month and, thankfully, went smoothly. Other than a messy overflow two days in, Matt skillfully took the reins, managing the what, when, and how of the secondary transfers without involving me at all.

As 2021 seeped away, Matt increasingly asserted his preferences over our explicit boundaries, even coyly passing his faux pas off as a simple lapse in memory. I doubt he realized that he was not only ignoring but also disobeying his parents. In those moments, he simply did what tickled his fancy—like a kid in a candy shop, entirely unable to resist the allure, leaving me to manage the fallout of his selective memory. Notably, since we had discussed and planned, I was one click away from buying supplies as a Christmas gift when, lo and behold, a delivery was deposited on our front steps. Mike rose up and laid down the law: "No more beer without our permission!" But, alas, before we had even bottled the rogue batch, yet another one was in the mail.

This compelled us to illogically implore the one who lacked insight, “Matt, we are running out of space. We can only drink so much beer. Or truthfully, a glass of wine might be nice now and again.” Ban or no ban, our rules stood zero chance against the unstoppable momentum of a fiercely self-determined brewer.

© 2026, Sarah Watkins