From Hearth to Hops: The Secret History of Women’s Beer

The smoke hung thick over the village as Gundred stirred her bubbling cauldron, the rich scent of malt and herbs clinging to her woolen apron. She held more than just a wooden paddle in her hands—she had her family’s future. Every week, she transformed barley and healthy water into liquid sustenance, selling the surplus to neighbors who prized her rosemary-infused ale. The coins she earned bought wool for winter cloaks and meat for the table. This was women’s work—until it wasn’t.

Beer Belonged to Women

For thousands of years, beer belonged to women. The Sumerians called it the “divine drink,” brewed by priestesses in temple courtyards. Viking women fermented barrels of strong ale to fortify their men for sea voyages. In medieval England, the alewife’s broomstick propped outside her door signaled fresh brew for sale—a precursor to the modern pub sign. These women weren’t just brewers but chemists, entrepreneurs, and community pillars.

But as beer became currency, men took notice. When hops arrived from Germany in the 15th century, male merchants saw profit in this new, longer-lasting brew. Guilds that had excluded women suddenly declared brewing “too complex” for female minds. Churchmen, eyeing the industry’s wealth, denounced alewives as temptresses—their cauldrons “witch’s pots,” their cats “familiars,” and their knowledge of herbs “sorcery.” The broomstick that once announced a fresh batch now marked a woman for suspicion.

By the peak of the witch trials, the transformation was complete. What had been honorable labor became evidence of heresy. A widow brewing to survive might find herself accused of poisoning a neighbor’s husband. A young woman’s particularly fine ale could be cited as proof of a devil’s bargains. The tools of their trade—the stirring sticks, the fermentation vats, the herb gardens—became exhibits in their persecution.

Women Don’t Abandon Beer Making

Yet, women never entirely relinquished their birthright. Nuns kept brewing traditions alive behind convent walls. Enslaved African women fermented corn beers under the watchful eyes of plantation owners. As they crossed the American plains, pioneer wives sustained their families with kitchen brews.

Today, as you sip a craft IPA, you taste their defiance. That citrusy hop profile? It’s a descendant of the herbs medieval women grew in kitchen gardens. The crisp carbonation? It’s an echo of fermentation spells muttered over wooden vats. Modern female brewers—from the Black-owned Harlem Brewery to Belgium’s legendary De Dolle Brouwers—are reclaiming what was stolen, one batch at a time.

“They called us witches when we brewed. Now they call our beer ‘craft.’ Progress tastes bitter—but we’re still stirring the pot.”

The next time you see a witch on a beer label, remember: She’s not just a marketing gimmick. She’s Gundred and her cauldron. She’s the Sumerian priestess, and their temple brews. She’s every woman who ever turned grain into gold—and paid the price for that power.

On Tap At The Central Coast Renaissance Festival

We’ll have plenty of ale, wine, cider and mead for your drinking pleasure at the Renaissance Festival.

Purchase your souvenir metal tankard and your first drink is on us! These will be available at the ale booth.

Also we have a group of singing alewives on hand for your entertainment. Each day of the festival our Merry Wives of Windsor, whose beautiful voices sing of beer and men, will beguile you from the Poor Man’s Globe  at 11:00, 2:15, and 4:00. (See the full entertainment lineup here.)