On an August evening, as night fell, I found myself seeking moths in a clearing near a stand of pitch pines. Flittering insects descended, some the size of one’s fingernail, others the size of one’s palm. They tickled my shoulders and neck as they careened past, undaunted in a journey towards light. Moths, it turns out, use the moon for navigation and get confused by artificial sources, which were set up intentionally to lure them. It’s kind of like us, with our phones. That I had a frosty beer in hand and the cult-film Mothra played in the background elevated the experience to perfection. Welcome to Pinelands Brewing Company, which celebrates sense of place by the pint.