The old adage, “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone,” rings in my head continuously as I pore over the myriad of pages from brewing magazines, product catalogs and homebrew clubs on the Internet. The clacking sound of the plastic airlock of my fermenter, at first nearly inaudible, grows into a thunderous stomp in my head as my concoction grows to life. The pungent smell of malt and hops that permeate the house on brew day seem to me like the fond memories of fresh-cut grass people recall when asked of childhood. And as these distant mental images and olfactory delights wash over me now, there are some of you out there who let your opportunities squander away. Your brew pots, bottles and kegs lay empty — dry as the Iraqi landscape that I now sit in day after brewless day.

But I will admit, I was once like you. I would spend many glorious weekend afternoons lounging on the couch in front of the idiot box saying to myself, “Oh well, maybe I’ll brew tomorrow.” And as far as my faithful equipment figured, tomorrow never came. My pots, paddles and tubing have been cast into an unthinkable zymurgical gulag, exiled to the garage as my wife makes a little more room for herself while I am gone. I am hopeful they have not lost faith in me and that they wait eagerly for their freedom upon my return. Fear not, my little friends, for I will return. Alas, until then I can only dream of what will be!

As you may have already figured, I am serving my nation in Iraq. And as condition of any military deployment, we do not have beer. I confess I have tried to recreate the experience of sitting and talking with friends over a great beer by means of nonalcoholic Coors they keep on stock at the chow hall. For those of you who just experienced a shutter down your back and into your gut, I thank you for your sympathy. I have been incessantly reading articles and forum discussions so as to further my knowledge and skill for the day when I can brew again. I walk through the steps in my procedures that might be improved. I fantasize about delectable recipes that keep my friends coming back for more, and the catchy names I would call each brew. I visualize my cluttered garage transforming to a brewhouse full of wondrous contraptions and gadgets. Then I am awakened from my soothing daydream by the crackling of gunfire from the guard towers on the roof and am reminded of where I am. So, until I am reunited with my passions (the first being my wife — come on, I’m not crazy!) I will have to make do with reading and dreaming.

Admittedly, I am just an intermediate brewer, sticking to extract and partial mash brewing in the kitchen for the past couple of years. But recently the ideas about brewing swim in my head night and day. It seems like brewing is all I think about, probably to block out the horrors that still occur here everyday. Despite what you see — or don’t see — of our mission in Iraq, it is still war everyday. So, I escape into a dream of advancing to all-grain equipment, three-tier brewing systems, new glass carboys, Cornelius kegging systems, mash tuns, burners, paddles and hydrometers.

Needless to say, I look forward to a grand homecoming with my wife, my dogs . . . and my home. And maybe that’s what this is all about: Brewing reminds me of home, and all the wonderful things about being there. Not just our loved ones, but the little things that make home a splendid place to be.

So my daydreams are not just simply about the great things I’ll be able to get to enhance my brewing, but rather the enhancement I’ll get just from being at home brewing again. Chilly Saturday mornings in the garage, burners roaring under the brew kettle, the smell of fresh grains and hops, fermenters waiting to be filled and those precious few moments for my wife and I to do something together.