Last Saturday, in the Hill Country heat, I stood at the gates of our distillery and looked out at a line of cars that stretched for what seemed like miles. They weren’t here for a concert, or a rodeo, or even for barbecue. They were here for a bottle of bourbon. Our bourbon. Laguna Madre.
It’s the fifth year we’ve released it, and I swear to you—it only gets better. We had fresh oysters hauled up from Key Allegro Oyster Co., shucked on the spot, briny and cold. A band played in the yard, and the music carried across the fields. Families, old friends, and bourbon fanatics—folks who drove all night just to get here—waited patiently for their turn.
Some people call me crazy for naming a bourbon after a saltwater lagoon. But the Laguna Madre isn’t just any body of water. It’s where I fished as a kid, where I learned patience and respect for nature. The marketing folks told me the name was too obscure. But I stuck with it. Because when I close my eyes and think about why we do this—why we fight to make bourbon in Texas against all odds—that lagoon comes to mind. It’s wild. It’s tough. It’s beautiful. That’s what I wanted in the bottle.
When we pour Laguna Madre Bourbon into a glass, you taste years of work—eight years, to be exact—finished in French Limousin oak, with those deep notes of vanilla, chocolate, and cream that linger long after the sip. You also taste a promise: that we’ll use what we do best to help protect places like the lagoon.
That’s why the Texas Waterways Dinner Series matters so much to me. Just like this release, it’s part of our mission to prove that good bourbon really can change the world. Every dollar raised, every oyster slurped, every bottle signed—it all points back to the idea that Texas’ greatest treasures are worth fighting for.
I think about the Laguna Madre often. I think about the sun coming up over its still waters, about redfish darting in the shallows, about the responsibility we all share to keep that place alive for our kids and their kids. That’s why we’ve partnered with FlatsWorthy. That’s why we keep telling this story.
So, to everyone who waited in line last Saturday, who raised a glass with us, who hauled home a bottle you’ll probably save for a special occasion—thank you. You’re not just part of our story. You’re part of the Laguna Madre’s story, too. And together, we’ll make sure it’s a story worth telling fifty years from now.
Salud,
Dan Garrison
