Has anybody tried the rye whiskey made at the Mt. Vernon Distillery? It seems a little spendy, I'd like to get an opinion of it before I drop $98 on a 375ml bottle of their cheapest blend ($225/375ml for the "premium" 4-year aged).
I know it's not San Marcos specific, exactly but I hoped someone might be in the know.
Graduated in 09, had a homecoming for my birthday with Alvin Words, a Don's Fish Camp float and dinner at Gristmill a couple weeks ago.
I asked about bread at The Gristmill (which I remember being delicious) and the waiter looked at me like a crazy person and had no idea what I was talking about.
Am I imagining this mythical Gristmill Bread?
I must know.
So I was trying to come up with an idea to make pigeons a bit less mandatory and solve the problem of having high ground next to your base and I came up with an idea: make the gristmill able to see high ground!
Well then, how do I do this? I suppose I could give it the flying trait? So I did, and then when I tried to test the mod this happened. The gristmill also moved up and down, which added to the hilarity of the moment.
Making them fly also had some unintended effects, but I'm not sure if they are good or bad:
- Moles / mice / chameleons can't rush the gristmill (they have to go for farms)
- Artillery can't target gristmills
- Uncle butters can't target gristmills
Thoughts? Do you think giving gristmills visibility over high ground (or even flying) is a good idea?
Cancer is the first thing I learned to truly hate at the age of 9. I’d curse its name and punch the bark of trees in the woods next to my home until my red knuckles split and bruised. My mother tried to tell me about foster families that would love me and care for me, but each time I’d storm out into those woods, suffocated by the thought of losing her. I’d sit and lean on the trees feeling so small.
I spent every day after school getting lost in those woods, eager to escape my frustrations. The babbling waters of the creek would whisper comfort and the trees would sway like welcoming arms. Fantasy wore thin with the onset of hunger, however, and I’d eventually trudge back home through the fallen leaves to my sick mother.
One day she came back from the hospital with glassy eyes. That evening she told me it had spread throughout her body. She presented a will for me to look at, her face looking paper-thin over her skull. I bolted out the door and ran farther into those trees than I’d ever gone.
That was the day I found the mill.
The trees thickened yet I struggled on, running from a pain no nine-year-old should face. The dappling of sun scattered sparingly on the forest floor as I pushed through dense clusters of trees. Eventually I stumbled upon a derelict stone building, overgrown with ivy and dark, twisted branches. Ancient stonework crumbled under the sagging wooden roof, and a splintered waterwheel sat warped and rotten in a dried up creek. It was an old grain mill, abandoned for decades and overrun with trees. The beauty of nature reclaiming the stone building was timeless and almost magical, but as I looked closer at the cracked door, I saw a wide, staring eye.
My blood chilled and I began to run, but then a deep, creaky voice called out to me “Wait.” I froze in my worn out boots then turned to face the doorway.
“Why are you here, boy?” asked the gravelly voice.
I watched the door with a pattering heart as it creaked open slightly, revealing a tall silhouette; only the sliver of his yellow eye and a filthy grey beard were illuminated in the shadows.
“You look sad” the voice spoke low and soft, “I am sad too. My animals are hungry and I’m too weak to reach their feed. I’m afraid I’ll lose them.” His voice was tender, tinged with the bitter pain, but his reply only angered me. I lashed out, unable to hold my tongue.
“My mother is dying, I don’t care about your stupid animals!” I screamed and collapsed to my knees weeping as snot and tears swir
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