Pa makes moonshine.  He goes up the hill and disappears into the pines every day.  Nobody is allowed to talk about where he goes.

Sisters, Martha, 10, and Sara, 9, live in the back hills with Ma and Pa. As typical mischievous, curious kids, we play outside after chores and get dirty, which gets us into trouble.

Ma churns butter, makes biscuits, and bakes pies. We have to behave in order to get any desert after dinner. Ma is a real good cook, too.

Washing day is awful because it’s lots of work. In order to hang the clothes on the line we stretch to reach the rope and pins, often taking tumbles slipping on the uneven, wet ground.

One day we decided to make our own hooch. We start that day to collect all the potato peelings and left over foods then put them into the rain barrel. We made sure the lid is on, and then we go to play.

After a few weeks we decide it’s time to check the barrel. Carefully lifting the lid we both jump back. The top is full of bubbles and stinky.  Ma is sure to find out what we’ve been up to.  We struggle to move the barrel down the gentle hill to the creek but it tips over and runs all across the ground. We put the barrel right back hoping it’s hid out.

After awhile we hear our ma yell to get on home. Now! We run home to find all the fowl, six geese, three ducks, and four chickens lying on the ground.

“These fowl are dead. We have to pluck ‘em quick and cook ‘em up. Hurry now.”

Ma plucks two geese and sets them on the floor. They gets busy plucking a little chicken. In a little while they move. Shocked, Ma stares at them, lets out a scream and watches them wobble toward the door.

They’re drunk from eating our fermented food.

Ma makes coats for them and we stay far away from making home brew after that.

                                         End