To the Editor:
I want to thank The Altamont Enterprise for its hometown coverage of a hometown business [“Waiting five years for a drink,” June 2, 2022]. In your paper this week, you feature an article from reporter Sean Mulkerrin following up on a story he first broke back in October 2018, about the dogmatically litigious New Scotch Whiskey Association’s legal campaign against my company, New Scotland Spirits.

I say “my company” because New Scotland Spirits is a company I agreed to be involved with since the day our founding members told me they wanted to make whiskey alongside some of my closest childhood friends. The point of which was to build a business that celebrates our hometown. 

That’s the real story here. The legal action — which I’m proud to say resulted in a victorious settlement — is old news. We settled it nearly two years ago.

Yes we were sued, and yes we settled. But, that’s just a company footnote now. Our story is accentuated by the picture that accompanies Mr. Mulkerrin’s article, which depicts a family of friends and acquaintances who grew up together over the course of more than 30 years.

We didn’t wait five years to sell our whiskey because of a lawsuit. We waited five years because we had to age our whiskey for it to have a taste that would do our town justice. We had to wait five years because one of us was deployed twice during that time, while the rest of us were building families and careers in different parts of the country. But we’re all back together, and our fortunes are wedded together, and to the fields of Lime Kiln Farm.

Our family of friends decided more than six years ago to launch (or join) a project that keeps us together as life circumstances threaten to make us diverge. We’re a story of a group of reformed class clowns who decided to make a product born from the town that raised us to bring attention and esteem to upstate New York — a place that collectively, despite our own personal trials and tribulations, did a good enough job raising us that we were able to carve out some moderate success in life.

We’re trying to give back to that community, to give it something to be proud of. That’s our myth, that’s our fable. The benefit of this one is that, at the core, it isn’t bull----.

When you buy our bottle, you’re making us a few bucks, sure, but at the same time you’re taking part in a story of love and friendship, mixed with a sense of honor and humility. And, while our story hasn’t been (at least yet) filled with large amounts of pain, suffering, or immense drama, it is a living example of heart and soul in action; it’s powerful, and we hope — relatable.

I couldn’t wait to join this company, and it isn’t because of the whiskey. It’s because of the friends I’ve known since adolescence.

Our barley is from Indian Ladder Farms, right in New Scotland, but that wasn’t touched on in Mr. Mulkerrin’s story. Our corn and wheat and rye is from Lime Kiln Farm, a fifth-generation family farm on Clipp Road. That wasn’t mentioned either, yet it’s integral to where we’re going, as the Miller family integrates its agricultural operations to support this endeavor.

So while Mr. Mulkerrin’s article delved into one aspect of our past, I want to say something about our future: Thank you, New Scotland, for the unanticipated success that now finds us scrambling into the early morning hours as we juggle kids and full-time jobs to bottle more whiskey for our neighbors.

Your enthusiasm, encouragement, and financial support validate all we’re trying to do, and prove that our community-focused business model is the key to our future success. We’re in this together. Thanks for helping us make a go at this. 

Bryan Kafka

New Scotland