I got the call that my Grandpa passed away while I was brewing the Sumatra. My sister tearfully said on the phone that she just wanted to get outside and be in her garden, just like Grandpa would like.
Grandpa Brewster was a dairy farmer. His farm, which is now my aunt and uncles', isn't far from Winsted, where I'm going to set up coffee today. I had thought about just taking the day off, but then I realized that the grandpas of the kids selling flowers and tomatoes at the farmer's market today might remember Bob Brewster, and probably very fondly. I don't know that I'll meet anyone who knew him today, but hanging out with the farm kids seems like the right place to be today.
