Once the cooled wort is poured off into the primary tank, we impregnate it with a yeast culture of choice. Those yeasties begin to multiply faster than Patty Frustaci on fertility pills. If it is a ale, it has to be placed just so. I favor wrapping my ales in a heavy swaddling towel affixed with four clothes pins to both darken its surroundings and to keep outside temperature fluctuations less traumatic. It is also a sure fire conversation starter for you brewsters who entertain.
Lagers raise the maternal brewster's instincts to new heights.
I might be accused of being Dahmerish in my attention to a chest freezer, but it's just those Mommy Dearest instincts at work. Daily I gently raise the lid and check the progress of my infant brew, not unlike a concerned mom checking to see if the kid's still breathing. I do make sure its chilly crib has been thoroughly wiped down with enough bleach to take care of a 1,000 diaper pails. Not even J.E. could possibly use more bleach than I do in this endeavor. When things have quieted down in the nursery tank, it's time to transfer to a secondary.