Oast House. AKA, the place where at you dries your hops. I wish you guys could have smelled my garage last weekend.
There is nothing in the world like that Scrooge McDuck feeling you get when your backyard hop harvest comes in. When all those months of sitting on your ass watching plants grow pays off in a resiny, lupulin-tinged, tangible fashion with bags of fragrant dried inflorescences.
My oast is a couple window screens laid across sawhorses in my garage. It's hot in there in summer, citizens, and box fans pointing up at the hops from underneath the screens keep air circulating. This season blessed me with several warm sunny days with low humidity before harvest, so I was able to get the cones from bine to freezer in a matter of hours. What's your oast?