The Drains Come First

The construction process was daunting, but after working in wineries throughout the Finger Lakes and building Empire Cider Co. from the ground up, I knew what I wanted, and more importantly, what I needed. Floor drains were first on the list. Not glamorous, but essential to production.

We constructed, and by "we," I mean the fantastic, talented tradesmen who worked alongside me for almost two years building Titan Hollow. Most days they thought I was crazy. (Now they know I am.) But they always showed up at the Hollow with a smile, telling me this was their favorite project they were working on.

So, back to the drains. We cut a floor trench, and I'll admit, one of my favorite pastimes is watching men work, especially with powerful equipment. They jackhammered through a hundred years of concrete and poured new forms so water would slowly drain from one end of production to the other. Mustang Fabrication built the trench covers: steel plates strong enough to hold up to forklifts, with our Mad McIntosh logo cut right into the metal on a CNC machine.

Floor drains might seem like a small thing to anyone outside the trade, but in the art of fermentation, ninety percent of the work is cleaning, something I didn't fully appreciate until my education in viticulture and wine technology in the Finger Lakes. Being able to hose everything down and squeegee it toward a single trench running the length of production isn't a luxury. It's a necessity.

Walls went up. Multiple types of power went in. We built a removable wall, too, knowing that down the road we'd want to expand into winemaking and would need room for more tanks.

The Beginning

Titan Hollow started to become real right before the pandemic. My business partners and I formed our LLC in late 2019, but it would be years before our doors opened to the public. At the time I was living in New York, working as the Chief Cider Maker for Empire Cider Co. out of Geneva. In March of 2020, I sold my house, preparing to move to Bellefonte, PA and start this next crazy chapter of my life.

When the movers loaded the last of the boxes, they asked for the delivery address. I gave them the PA address, and they looked at me, startled: "We can't deliver there, our state's in lockdown, we can't cross state lines for personal deliveries, only business." Many hours (and a lot of paperwork) later, we'd pulled my personal belongings back off the truck and sent the rest on to this old factory. In retrospect, it was probably for the best. Most of that furniture and decor became the building blocks for what is now Titan Hollow.

After many years in LA, I was done commuting. The plan was to build an apartment inside Titan Energy Park, so I could walk downstairs in my slippers, coffee in hand, and check on the ferments, a daily ritual I'll tell you more about when we get to the production process. The apartment never materialized. So while I was piecing the rest of the puzzle together, my father opened his doors, and I was his little monster coming home again, something I'll always be grateful for, among countless other things. I spent five glorious months of the pandemic in his little cottage on the lake, designing and preparing for what we now all share together: Titan Hollow.