I stumbled on this listing on FB Marketplace. For the bargain price of $300, you too can own a still! Gone are the days of bootleggin’ corn likker…or are they? This little home model says there might be some squeezin’s being made back in the hollers of the Appalachias. It’s still illegal to make…but, as long as you’re not runnin’ a big outfit, I doubt you’ll see any revenues coming to bust up your still.
The name “moonshine” was coined to describe the making of home brew under the light of the moon. Moonshiners needed to work under the cover of darkness to keep their stills from being discovered. The still itself was made out of copper. It came apart in pieces to ensure a quick getaway if word got around the law was on your trail.
Bootleg, firewater, home brew, hooch, stump water, skull cracker, wildcat were all colloquial names for moonshine. It’s rose in popularity during Prohibition when home distillers made whiskey, filling Mason jars with the coveted elixir and “running” it through the hills to all manner of folks. Farmers, coal miners, young boys itching to be men too fast for their own good. There are numbers on the bottom of Mason jars and those ‘shiners would break every one of them that had a “13” on them. They figured that was bad luck and they were a superstitious lot.
My Uncle Bud told me a story about my grandma. Seems Pop-Pop’s half-brother came for a visit one time, back in the day. That side of the family was a lot rougher than my side and Grandma wouldn’t have it. When the fella got out of his car, Grandmas saw him kinda sneak off to the crick. When he came back out, he adjusted his belt a little to let folks think he’d been down there “watering the grass.”
You would have to get up pretty early to pull one over on my grandma. When the menfolk went around the back of the house and the half-brother was busy rolling a cigarette, Grandma walked out the front door and down to the crick to see what was what. Well, she found that jar of moonshine and smashed it to smithereens on the rocks. The fella’s precious hooch was snakin’ down the branch to feed the fishes.
Oh, was that man fit to be tied when he went to take a snort and all he saw was shards of glass and a wet spot. But, I’m tellin’ you what, he had sense enough not to say a word to Grandma when he saw the icy glare she gave him. No sir…she wouldn’t abide such foolishness.
Grandma called all liquor “hootypog.” Hudepohl Beer was established in 1885. It’s been one of the most beloved breweries in Cincinnati and is known for not only its delicious brews, but also the inspiration for the famous chant…”Who Dey” at Bengals games. Apparently, Grandma saw an ad one time for Hudepohl Beer and extrapolated it to cover all forms of alcohol. When Pop-Pop drove her to town every couple of weeks for groceries, she’d warn him if the driver in front of them was weaving, or if the car had a dent. She’d say, “Now, you back off away from that feller, Mart…he’s been in the hootypog!” PopPop would just smile and do as he was told.
Grandma always had a good story to tell. I guess the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?
💜
“And do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery, but be filled with the Spirit,” Ephesians 5:18 ESV
***Gratitude Journal***
Today I am grateful to still have the opportunity to hang out at my grandma’s house and feel the memories and the stories wash over me with every sound, sight, and smell.