forgotten distillery.

This morning, with the help of a neighbor-turned-friend and local historian who’s been quietly researching the land around Burnt Hill, I made an incredible discovery.

Just 100 yards from our vineyard entrance on Burnt Hill Road, hidden beneath wild grapevines and scrub trees, once stood King’s Distillery & Sawmill—a three-story operation dating back to the mid-1800s. It was run by Luther Green King, who distilled Maryland rye whiskey from locally grown grain right here on this land. Barrels were made from local timber, hand-hewn into staves in the connected sawmill and assembled on-site in a backwoods, self-sustaining cooperage, then shipped to Baltimore for bottling.

It turns out this was the only distillery in Montgomery County at the time. Sales were likely handled the old-fashioned way—saloonkeepers filling mugs straight from the barrel or refilling jugs customers brought from home. It wasn’t a flashy commercial venture, but a working piece of the local farm economy—deeply tied to land, grain, and community.

The distillery burned down in 1907, but a warehouse stood until 1971. In the 1970s, the site was designated a historic landmark—marked with a proper sign. But over time, the sign vanished, and with it, the memory of this place faded into the woods.

And yet, here we are at Burnt Hill Farm—growing heritage grain on the same hillside, harvesting by hand, milling on-site with a New American stone mill, baking it, serving it. We’re even crafting barrels and foeders from our own ash trees, honoring the land through fermentation. Making estate wines deeply tied to the land. And all along, this legacy was quite literally beneath our feet.

Now I can’t help but ask: What should we do with this story?

We’d love to see the site honored again—with new signage and a cleaned-up path to visit. We’ve already adopted Burnt Hill Road and do regular trash cleanups, so we’re happy to take the lead if the county is open to reinstalling the marker.

But even more, I keep thinking about how this history lives on in what we do. What if we didn’t just mark the place—but brought it to life? A rye sourdough. A whiskey barrel-aged wine. A seasonal dinner series called King’s Table. What if we invited guests to taste the thread that runs through this land—grain, fermentation, fire, and community?

I’m still wrapping my head around it. But one thing is certain: Burnt Hill’s story just got deeper. And it was here all along.