8.5% ABV, 500 ml
With a peachy, floral aroma, refreshingly tart acidity, and robust, yet subtle character, Lumina drinks like summer in a glass. Ever wondered what a summer’s eve Oregon sunset would taste like wild-fermented, aged in neutral oak, and bottled up? Grab a bottle of Lumina, roll out your picnic blanket, and find out! Pairs well with tapas, fish tacos, soft ripened cheeses, sunset, solstice, picnics, and backyard sunbathing.
A combination of terroir and our low-intervention cidermaking philosophy gives Lumina its complex, unique character. We see ourselves as stewards of the land, our crops, the fermenting yeast — managers to the stars, if you will — and believe in letting their natural character shine through. Why? Because it’s so damn delicious on its own, without a lot of interference. We act as flavor curators — guiding fermentation, selecting barrels to blend or use for certain products, selecting apple varieties and other crops to add — but the weather as well as the wild-occurring yeast and bacteria are the major influencers. We also believe that good things take time, so we age our ciders for as long as it takes for them to reach optimal drinkability; in this case, eighteen months. Close your eyes and savor this expression of all that our farm and our orchards have to offer. Lumina offers a cider-drinking experience you’ll not soon forget.
- Pleasant and distinct peachy flavor
- Medium body.
- Made with Gravenstein and Rome apples, Candor peaches.
- 100% estate grown ingredients.
- Grown, picked, crushed, pressed, fermented, aged, and bottled in-house.
- Barrel- and Wild-fermented with only naturally-occurring yeast.
- Completely dry flavor with no sweetness.
- Aged in neutral oak barrels for eighteen months.
- Unfiltered, unpasteurized, unfined and produced with limited intervention and no industrial practices.
- Bottle conditioned to produce carbonation naturally.
- Pairs well with tapas, fish tacos, fish roe and crème fraiche, soft ripened cheeses.
Pair your sipping with a story. Enjoy this piece of Evenfall lore inspired by Lumina.
Smoke billowed straight up from the campfire and formed a translucent, undulating curtain between my brother and me. We had fallen silent; it was getting late. We were reaching that point in the night when it’s clearly time to go to bed, but you linger, unsure of how to make the transition from waking — from the significance and scope of a late-night, fireside conversation — to sleeping, the simplicity and anti-climax of it. I allowed my attention to be drawn in by the flames, allowed them to mesmerize me and empty my mind, their ravenous tongues flicking upward into the night air. I felt the tip of my nose growing cold, but was unaffected. The feeling was vague and distant like sensation against a limb that has fallen asleep; you feel something, but it’s disembodied. Anesthetized.
The fire popped and sputtered and collapsed in on itself, the logs having succumbed and crumbled in defeat at last. Its hypnotic power was broken and across the smoldering coals now spewing thick, desperate smoke, I could feel my brother’s awareness returning simultaneously with mine. He stood up.
“Well, I think I’d better hit the sack,” he said.
“K,” I replied, my gaze still fixed on the dying fire. “Night.”
“You’ll put out the fire?”
“Yep.” But I still couldn’t bring myself to break my stillness, not yet. “I’m heading to bed, too,” I added eventually, but he had already zipped the flap of his tent closed. The flames were weak now, and listless. Their colors had become subdued — brilliant blue, red, orange and gold giving way to a pale, creamy yellow. At last, I sighed and stood. It felt momentous. Like I had been a mountain unmoved for millennia and was now suddenly upheaved by an abrupt tectonic shift. I poured a small bucket of river water over the coals, which steamed and hissed satisfyingly, and tucked myself into my tent for the night.
The next morning, I awoke early, much earlier than I had intended. I dressed quietly and eased the zippered tent flaps open and then closed again. Dawn was a whisper, an epiphany forming at the edge of consciousness, and the birds were just beginning to awaken, tittering and trilling and fluttering between boughs only occasionally. The atmosphere and wisps of fog surrounding my brother’s tent were still, the dew rigid where it had beaded overnight on the nylon surface. I was satisfied that he was still fast asleep and gave myself permission to slip away for a short walk.
We had camped alongside a narrow river, in the crook of a shallow, lazy bend. I followed the river until the trees began to thin and then turned to scramble up the sides of a shale crag. The top of the rock offered a wonderful vantage point for looking out over the narrow river valley beyond and I longed for its peaceful solitude. When I crested the top, I was surprised to see my brother sitting at the front edge of the crag, one bent leg flat on the ground and pulled in toward his body, the other arched upward and encircled by his arms. He looked at me and put a finger to his lips, then turned his gaze back toward the valley. I crept up beside him and looked over the edge.
It took me a moment to see what he was seeing, but then I registered movement below. A small bear was padding languidly along the riverbank in our direction. We watched for a few moments and then my brother turned to me.
“I dreamed about her last night,” he whispered.
“Grammy?” I breathed and I felt a faint squeeze around my heart.
He nodded. I didn’t need him to explain further. I had also dreamed about her; that she had joined us at our campfire the night before, joined in our conversation and eased the sorrow that had weighed on us as heavily as the encroaching forest dark with her sparkling, joyful eyes and signature humor. When it had been time to go to bed in the dream, we begged her to let us stay up like we had done when we were kids.
Gently, she declined our entreaties. “I’m as beat as a damn dog,” she said with a laugh. “Honey, I’m old. I can’t keep up with you kids. It’s time for Grammy to get some sleep. Get your butt over here and give me a hug,” she said standing. We obliged, taking turns to melt into her soft, plump body. “Gosh darnit, I love you,” she said to each of us mid-embrace with laughter in her voice. “Love you, too, Grams,” we each replied. As she began to walk away from the fire, she turned back to look at us, a shrewd, playful look in her eyes. “You kids behave yourselves, now,” she said with a wink. “I’m so proud of you.” With that, she had turned and walked into the moonlit night and we watched until she disappeared from view. I don’t remember if the dream continued after that.
My brother and I watched as the bear waded into the river a few paces and drank. Then, with an eerie intentionality, the she lifted her head and stared directly at us. Dawn unfurled and bloomed on the horizon, illumined in the bear’s gaze, and we were amazed to discover that something of our grandmother’s wit and wisdom resided behind her eyes.