Sharing a glass face-to-face is about more than what’s in the glass—it’s about presence.

That idea takes me back to something Freddie Johnson once said, words that have stuck with me and grown heavier with time:

Never save bourbon when sharing with friends and family. There will always be more bourbon. We are the fragile part of this equation. It’s not about the whiskey, it’s about the lives you touch and the people you meet. The whiskey is a by-product of a good relationship.

Freddie told a story that puts real weight behind those words. He had come into possession of a truly special bottle—Pappy Van Winkle. When he poured it for his father and brother, he only poured a little. His father noticed and asked why. Freddie said he wanted to save it for later.

His father stopped him cold.

You share the good stuff with the people you love when you have the chance.

So they did. The three of them finished the bottle together, not in excess, but in gratitude—talking, laughing, being fully present. Six months later, both his father and brother were gone. Had he saved the bottle, it would have been opened at their funerals.

That’s the part of the story that never lets go.

I have plenty of bottles that I consider “good stuff.” Truth be told, they don’t always stack up against some of the unicorns I see poured at weekly tastings here in Jacksonville—but that’s not the point. When Scott comes to town. When my brother Jeff and I cross paths. When there’s a reunion, a backyard gathering, or a table that matters—I reach for my best bottles.

Not to impress.
To share.

That instinct is part of what excites me so much about this barrel-aging experiment I’ve been working on. I’m not crafting bottles to sit untouched or admired from afar. I’m crafting something meant to be poured across the table—to create moments, conversations, and memories that linger longer than the finish.

Because going back to that first sentence, it really is about presence.

The whiskey gives us a center point. A reason to slow down. A shared experience to gather around. But what’s actually being shared is time. And time, unlike bourbon, doesn’t come with a refill policy.

A good glass of bourbon demands patience. You don’t rush it. You sit with it. You talk. You listen. You stay. In that way, it invites something deeper than a quick cup of coffee or a cold beer grabbed on the run.

Scripture understood this long before Glencairns ever existed.

“Be careful how you live… making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”
— Ephesians 5:15–16

Or put another way: don’t waste the good moments. Don’t save the good stuff for a future that isn’t guaranteed.

There will always be more bourbon.
We are the fragile part of this equation.

So pour it. Share it. Sit across the table. Be present while you can.
Because one day, what you’ll remember won’t be the bottle—it’ll be who was sitting there when it was emptied.

Copyright © 2026 Doug DeBolt.