I grew up in central lower Michigan on a farm. My dad treated me like a man long before I was one (if I am even am one now). He would wake me up at 5:30a on Saturday morning mock-kazooing reveille – an annoying but effective relic from his Marine boot camp. He’d hand me a quart jar of iced tea and say “Double Kidder Grandpa J’s front 40.” It meant a double dig of a field in a single day – in short, running corner to corner, crossing every piece of earth twice by overlapping at a 90 degree angle what you had just dug. It’s a pretty pattern, a nice way to spend a day in solitude and gets the job done seemingly twice as fast. I’m working on this double IPA to mimic that feeling – twice the work, twice the refinement, and twice the benefit.