His shelves are a cornucopia of sweet and herbaceous flavours—including cherry, cranberry and elderberry, or rosehip, haskap, dandelion and others. He is very open to experimentation with flavours—on this day the flavours available include Salt Caramel, and Smores. He says people will grow more produce than they can use and bring it to him. “They'll show up on my door and say, ‘Can you do anything with this rhubarb?’ So I'll make rhubarb mead. I'll keep some, and then give them some as a present.”

Most people in the Maritimes have probably not tried mead. They may have seen it being imbibed in gargantuan quantities by vikings on television, or by various other rough-hewn characters in historic or fantasy series. In this tiny brewery, the viking theme prevails; seats of bark-bound tree cuts and a stuffed black bear hint of life in rugged wilderness, and a wooden shield and battle axes adorn the wall. 

Chuck set up his brewery four years ago, when the TV series Vikings and Game of Thrones still loomed especially large in the public mind. “People never get tired of Vikings.”

He’s a history buff, and he encountered the story of Odin, the Viking god who rules Valhalla. The triple horns of Odin are an enduring Viking symbol of Norse mythology, and reference Odin’s search for the “mead of poetry.” 

“He was a wanderer,” Chuck says. “He found a a tree that had been hit by lightning. There was a beehive in the water, and he took his horns and started to drink. And when he went to the village, he said he has got the gift of wisdom . . . He was drunk and told stories. I know guys like that too, they get the gift of wisdom. So that's where I come up the name Horns of Odin.” 

These horns were for drinking, and do not reference horned helmets, which vikings never wore and are entirely a myth of more modern opera. Not that every decoration in the brewery is historically sound: A sign on one wall shows a Viking longship and the warning, “Parking for Vikings Only, All Others Will Be Pillaged.”

The decor and the name and Chuck’s one-man production line are an exercise in pragmatism. Even the designation “brewery” is a practical move. “I don't use the term meadery, because people don't know what a meadery is. So I kind of cheat a little bit and use the term brewery. A lot of people will Google the term ‘brewery,’ right?” 

It’s the kind of sensible fix that works in a DIY project such as Horns of Odin. It’s classed by the province as a “small craft brewery,” and he can only make “four or five gallons at a time.” 

Chuck keeps the ABV (alcohol by volume) to 10 to 12 per cent, comparable to what these days is considered a lighter wine. His mead is also very dry—much less sweet than are most of the few meads that occasionally are available in Canadian liquor stores, and may be sweetened with, for example, corn syrup.

Mead has started a comeback in recent years, he says, and one reason for that is the lack of refined sugar in craft meads such as his. It’s also naturally gluten-free, which appeals to a growing number of people. “Mine is unfiltered and it’s non-pasteurized, so it’s as raw as you can get.”

The simplicity of the operation, which is charmingly small and humble, also speaks to olden times, before mass corporatization of production. Chuck knows mead won’t make him rich, but he sees more organic profits. As a provincial Fish and Wildlife officer, he had a deep connection with nature, and it was calling to him.

“I was outdoors pretty much all the time, dealing with it and protecting it. I missed that when I retired,” he says, pouring a small sample of Rosehip/Blueberry mead for testing. “What it really is is a mental-health project. I'm getting out of the house, I'm meeting people like you. We're having a chitchat, and that is good for me.” 🍺