Denizen - Sold Out
8.5% ABV, 500 ml
A good book, a crackling fire, and a glass of Denizen cherry cider are all you need to achieve maximum coziness. With pleasing bubbles and aromatic cherry notes, Denizen warms you from the inside out and leaves you feeling cheerful, relaxed, and inspired. Because we don’t use any industrial practices including filtering and pasteurization, you can experience all that our orchards and farm have to offer in pure, unadulterated fashion. Wild-fermentation gives a unique impression of terroir and, like all of our ciders, Denizen is aged in neutral oak barrels as long as it takes to develop optimal flavors and a complex character. Enjoy Denizen on its own or with a good book, artisanal cheeses and charcuterie, creamy dishes, and pork.
- Notes: Cherry pie smothered with almonds.
- Medium body.
- Made with Akane apples and Lambert cherries.
- 100% estate grown and processed, meaning all source fruit and spices were grown, picked, crushed, and pressed by us.
- Wild-fermented with only naturally-occurring yeast.
- Completely dry flavor with zero residual sugar.
- Unfiltered, unpasteurized, unfined and produced with limited intervention and no industrial practices.
- Bottle conditioning with no forced carbonation for a pleasant fizziness.
Stories and cider go hand-in-hand! Enjoy this short fiction story inspired by Denizen.
Eight hundred and ten stones in her chamber walls, that’s how many she had counted time and time again. She was certain the number was eight hundred and ten, but this morning she counted seven hundred and ninety-four. Sighing, she returned to her usual starting place. There was nothing to be done, but to count them again. With renewed focus and determination, she began. It wasn’t long though, before her mind began to wander and she lost track of counting altogether, her gaze falling to rest unfocused on the wall directly in front of her.
Scenes from her dreams the night before danced and flitted in her mind, reacquainting themselves with her imagination. Bursts of light tangoed with velveteen shadows and colors loomed large only to be dispelled beneath pale, monochrome moonlight. The images returned to her complete with an extraordinary depth of feeling, and with slight effort, she could recall sensations that made her shudder with their intensity: exhilaration and adrenaline, the tickle on flesh of wind parting fur, the heady, intricate musk of the wilderness. She was struck with the sudden realization of having taken a fox for her dream-form. Her dreams had become more vivid of late and she found herself pleasantly puzzled, if mildly alarmed by the change. In comparison, her waking hours — spent in much the same fashion every day, with little to surprise or stimulate, her mind woefully unoccupied — seemed muddied and indistinct, contrasting starkly with the variability and clarity of her dream life.
So engrossed was she in the recollection, that she hardly noticed when her morning meal was delivered despite the profane screech produced by the raising of the small delivery door and the discordant clatter of her food tray as it skittered across the flagstones. Nor was she much disturbed when the still-full tray was retrieved some hours later and replaced with the midday meal. It crossed her mind vaguely that she should feel hungry, but she had awoken with a sense of fullness and satisfaction that, when she considered it fully, she acknowledged was curiously consistent with an impression she had of having eaten heartily during the night. When it was discovered that evening that she had still not taken a bite of food, the heavy door was unbolted and pushed inward and her concerned, smiling-eyed caretaker appeared at her side.
“Are you unwell, child?” The woman asked, taking her elbow and helping her to her feet.
“What?” she replied, distracted. “Oh I’m — I’m fine, really … ” she trailed off and docilely allowed herself to be led to the bed.
The woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly in reply and spent the next several minutes fussing over her as one would a prized rooster who suddenly appeared malaised. “This will not do at all,” she reprimanded gently. “We must have you well. Is that a pallidness I detect in your cheeks? No, no, this simply will not do. I will call for a hot remedy and Della will sit with you until you fall asleep to ensure you want for nothing. Your beauty shall soon be restored, child, never you fear.”
“No really, it’s not — I’m, really … ” she attempted in reply, but found she didn’t have even a quarter-heart for half-hearted protestations and fell silent. After some time, the medicine and the maid were delivered as promised and the girl accepted treatment obediently, while her mind remained fixed on the world of her dreams. Eventually, she dipped into sleep and gave herself over to it entirely.
Several nights and days passed, her nights growing more dazzling and immersive, her days more spiritless and still. She began to feel as though she spent her waking hours asleep and her sleeping hours more alive and awake as each night and day passed. Her caretakers became increasingly concerned, administering every possible remedy to their quiescent, but listless patient. She accepted their attentions apathetically, but her mind remained fixed on the euphoria and vigorous activity that awaited her at day’s end. She began to care less and less about the daylight hours and the human form she was forced to endure during them. Eventually, she forsook them all together and slipped into trance-like state, allowing herself to be nursed and responding when required, but otherwise sinking into unconsciousness to await her beloved night. The night was hers. Stone walls could not contain her and each day, as dark descended, she ventured fearlessly into the wide, star-lit world, a dreamscape all her own.