Sprouts of Love

Nikki and I recently went out to the hop yard and I was reminded of that famous Shakespearean stanza,

"Hark, sprouts of love,
 Yon distant yard groweth
 Whence thou was bare.
 Oh, ye bitter brew made
 with hops so beauteous."

Okay, I made that up; and I didn't have any thoughts of Shakespeare when we saw this glorious sight:

Mmmmm, future aroma and/or bittering hops!