Moonshine

I have an uncle, my pop’s older brother, the classy one. He was a Navy man from 1951 to 1953. Maryland. Although he never experienced the glory of being based on a battleship or some such warring vessel, he was for a two week stretch based on a barge. Other than this illustrious barge duty he was firmly attached to terra firma. In a recent conversation he mentioned that he would periodically purchase moonshine while in the Navy.

He and his Navy colleagues, so I hear, were avid partiers. At one shin dig he got to talking to an old guy and was offered a sip of moonshine. “It was clear, not colored, and smooth,” he seemed to be recalling favorably as he described it to me, “and very strong.” The old guy explained to my uncle from whence the moonshine came and how he too might obtain a bottle.

Protocol went as follows: He and his buddies would drive to the beach, park the car, hike up into the forest to the designated tree stump. Put down $2, place a rock on the bills and walk away. Returning in ten minutes a pint of moonshine now stood where the bills had been. Hike back to the car, return to Navy-issued room, drink up.

Moonshining, in this day and age, has my curiosity raised. Buying moonshine or the product of a still or device of unknown quality or cleanliness does not strike me as inviting. But I guess the biggest question I have for my uncle is, “Why not just go to the liquor store and get what you need?”

Regardless, thanks for your service, Uncle.
-klem