potholes full of shine
I never made no liquor myself. But I seen my share of stills and always knew who run ‘em.
When I was a boy I helped hide it all the time for Uncle Poodle. I dug pot holes all over that mountain. Filled ‘em with ten gallon jugs of mountain lightening.
He didn’t put his own youguns to it. They liked it too much. Why, I seen ‘em boys drink shine from a paint bottle and fall over half dead. Get up the next day and do it again. They’d a drunk themselves to death if they had their way about it.
Like poor ole Johnny Overbaugh. He siphoned off some second run from his cousin’s still. Got in a greed and tried to get it all down him so he wouldn’t have to share. Ten seconds to drink it and ten seconds to die. That stuff bust his heart. It’d do that to you. I seen it happen. More than once.
Lucky Uncle Poodle’s boys didn’t know where their daddy kept his.
He trusted me though. Cause I didn’t like the stuff. Never touched a drop in my life.
Hezekiah Bishop
Puckett Ridge Road, West Virginia
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21 Responses to “potholes full of shine”
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the names of people and places in this piece are just wonderful…
Nice little piece on an old country tradition.
that was a lovely memory…thank you for your kind comment left in my blog….Happy Easter to you and your family.
Starting to wonder about your past lives…
Did this really happen? WOW…who’da thunk the hills were alive with the sound of sobriety?
The title is my favorite.
In the first instance I agree with Trish, your early lives were clearly amongst mountain folk.
Re this piece: I like the tone and atmosphere. I also like the pared down style, the brevity, nevertheless you tell us a great deal, about potholes, family tradition and the dangers of moonshine or what the Irish call potteen. Impressive, especially as it’s all done in 197 words.
You know them. Mountain folk are direct and frugal in all ways, especially with words. Happy Easter Buffy!
I like the burn. . .
You have a remarkable talent. One “sees” the entire milieu.
Got to watch out for that moonshine.
Hi, I just popped over to say thanks for commenting on my blog, and now I see I’ve spent 20 minutes reading your posts. I really like your writing.
*grin*
Convincing. And great title.
Hey Buffy!!
Thanks for stopping my the other day! SO happy to meet a fellow ex-pat, even if only hrough the blogosphere.
What part of England are you in? I’m moving to Cambridge in two weeks and I CAN’T WAIT!!!
Come by any time and we’ll compare writer’s notes…!(sigh)…Yes I, too long to be the next great novelist but, instead am working on being a currently good blogger. Hey – you gotta start somewhere, right??
I’ve tried a DROP of moonshine before and absolutely believe in its abilities to “bust a heart”!
Hi Buffy,
Thanks for stopping by my site and leaving such a nice comment. Since you liked the prison story you might want to check out my other blog. That’s where I usually post them. http://probitystatepen.blogspot.com
I enjoy your writing. I’m going to browse around here for awhile.
Thanks again,
bf
Hoo boy, my one encounter with moonshine I would love to forget. Awesome post!
I felt like you were channeling my great-uncle, who was repeatedly arrested in Missouri in the 20s for either 1) moonshinin’ or 2) getting women pregnant & then running out on them….eventually he changed his last name & moved to California.
Thanks for commenting on my journal. I’m really enjoying yours.
good lawd, lady you can write!
That accent sounds like home to me. We’ve even got a nearby Moonshine Festival to perk things up!
Julie
Don’t want to hear ’bout no shine. Mom’s Uncle Henley got “jake leg” from a bad batch of shine. Her grandpa shot and killed two lawmen after they came to his farm looking for shine down in the spring house and roughed up his wife after not finding any. Her mama drove him to the train station and he fled to Texas. He was making a living as a travelling preacher but his full set of gold teeth and his excellent marksmanship gave him away. Back in Virginia, he was acquitted on one charge, convicted of the other, and outlived a five year jail sentence. No wonder my parents were teetotallers.