Homebrew In Decline

 

When I started homebrewing in the late ’90s, it wasn’t because I wanted to ride some trendy wave—it was because I was broke and thirsty. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale was my holy grail, but back then, buying a six-pack felt like choosing between good beer and groceries. So I figured, hell, I’ll just make it myself. How hard could it be?

Pretty damn hard, it turns out.

I dove in headfirst, drunk on the belief that I could crack their code on my first or second try. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t. Batch after batch of well-intentioned swill taught me a humbling truth—good beer isn't easy. It takes patience. Precision. Pain. But through all the misfires and off flavors, I kept going. Somewhere along the way, I stopped chasing Sierra Nevada and started making something that was mine. It wasn’t their beer anymore. It was my beer. And it was good.

Back then, homebrewing felt like a secret society—a ragtag crew of misfits and dreamers stirring kettles in garages, swapping yeast strains like old vinyl. It was small, scrappy, and electric.

By 2013, the American Homebrewers Association claimed 1.2 million of us were out there, bubbling away in basements and backyards. But a few years later, those numbers slipped. Today? I don’t need data to tell me it’s fading. I can feel it. The forums are quieter. The homebrew shops thinner. The energy’s changed.

Some say the rise of craft beer killed the hobby—why brew when you can just buy something amazing off the shelf? Maybe they’re right. But that was never why I did it. It wasn’t just about the beer. It was the process. The alchemy. The long boil on a cold day, the hiss of fermentation, the camaraderie of the club. We weren’t just brewing—we were building something. A ritual. A rebellion. A way to say, "This one’s mine."

And yeah, I was cheap too. Ten gallons of my house pale ale cost me about twenty-five cents a pint—ingredients, gas, CO2, the works. But that wasn’t the point. Not really.

Now? It feels like something’s gone missing. Like the soul of homebrewing has slipped out the back door without saying goodbye. And just to rub salt in the wound, the craft beer industry—the one we helped ignite—is shrinking, too. Taprooms closing. Tanks drying. The revolution’s slowing down.

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m getting old, stuck in some sudsy nostalgia loop. But I miss it. I miss what it meant. What it gave us. That fire. That freedom.

Sorry. Give me a moment.