(no subject)
So im working on this new story...kinda of a Family Legend of my great Grandfather, Caleb Douglass....this is the first part...i think some more will be coming soon...[very unedited]
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The Pot
P.S. Burton
The coffee dripped like tears into the bowl under the cabinet. The dark liquid looked like the ooze from an oil refinery. Caleb, a dark rough skinned man, clasped his hand around the pot and poured the dark liquid into an old mug, a dark white acrylic cup that was made by his grandson some time ago. In one of those public schools art rooms that were lacking certain necessities like artistic ability or markers among other things. Cal was good six feet from the ground, Ol’Miss blood flowed through his veins. His deep and hard footsteps pulled the nails from under the floor board. His voice was like silent thunder, at every whisper of a vowel sound an angel was said to disappear under a cloud.
“Hey, Boy” said a custom who walked into the shop.
This was a usually unorthodox saying to Cal, someone calling him ‘Boy’. The ways of the south where ancient and deep but calling Caleb Douglas ‘Boy’ was something you never did. Weather white or a Negro you never called him a boy, and if you did you might find yourself in hole in the back of house. Mayor Lee even called Cal, Sir when talking to him. Caleb had more power than a Negro ought to have in the south. Seeing that he wasn’t a big man, yet you knew that he’d go for a good five hundred at an auction a couple hundred years ago. He turned around and stared at the short and stocky white man. He had a sweat covered trucking cap on and dirty denim blue shirt on with the “Hammer Mill” logo, the hammer mill was an old slaughter house up Interstate 13 in the Leake Country.
“Hey, boy, can you speak”
“Yes” Annoyed with the mans the jerky smell.
“Pour me a cup of that mud.”
“Alright”
“Alright what”
“I don’t call any man, Sir, after he’s called me boy”
“You must be one of those uppity Negroes thinking you better than us American borne White folk.”
“Yes” he poured the cup handed it to him and told him to leave.
The trucker summated to the strong yet softly spoken diction of the old black man. He left the dinner, and with it went his smell of jerky and pork hid. As he left a younger looking boy walked in with a dollar in his pocket and a smile on his face. The kid was Willie Lee Douglas, the teenage grandson of that that silent thunder of a voice, Caleb.
“You sold your first bottle, didn’t you?”
“Yes, pop.”
“What did you get for it?”
“A dollar and a tobacco knife”
“Who’d you sell it too?”
“The Jenson boys, up by the creek.”
The reason why Caleb, had more power than any Negro in Scott County was because he was the biggest moon shiner in these parts. During the time of Temperance the South was Dry, and when I say Dry I mean dryer than a virgin’s Saint Mary if you know what I mean. And after that amendment was appealed by the freest nation in the world. The good Christians folk of the county forgot to take it off the books seeing that they liked seeing the husband sober and not under the influence of the devil drink. Wondering around Lucy’s at night trying to find them some play.
Now you see, making good moonshine is quite an art. It takes lots of time and practice before one can whip up a good batch that sells. Throughout history, there have been many ways of making moonshine. Some folks would add a special ingredient or perform a certain method during the distilling period to make their moonshine taste distinct. Caleb had a special recipe from his mother, a so called Voodoo Queen from the back waters of Louisiana. The Bach he sold to the good christens folk of Forest was special to him it was called, Voodoo Gold, using a special ingredient, other than the corn meal, sugar, malt and yeast. But the process alone was the same. In his wallet was the process his mother thought him. He pulled out the tattered yellow sheet which read:
Mix all ingredients together in a large container. After mixing, move the mixture, called "mash," into a still and leave it to ferment. How quickly this process occurs depends on the warmth of the mash.
Heat the mash to the point of steam till it’ll boil. The mash will produce a clear liquid, often the color of dark mud. You must watch this process with careful attention.
Trap steam using a tube or coil. The steam will be transferred into a second, empty container. The resulting condensation is the moonshine. It is then ready to drink or sell.
Keep mash in container. It is now called "slop." Add more sugar, water, malt, and corn meal and repeat the process.
Repeat the process up to eight times before replacing the mash.
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The Pot
P.S. Burton
The coffee dripped like tears into the bowl under the cabinet. The dark liquid looked like the ooze from an oil refinery. Caleb, a dark rough skinned man, clasped his hand around the pot and poured the dark liquid into an old mug, a dark white acrylic cup that was made by his grandson some time ago. In one of those public schools art rooms that were lacking certain necessities like artistic ability or markers among other things. Cal was good six feet from the ground, Ol’Miss blood flowed through his veins. His deep and hard footsteps pulled the nails from under the floor board. His voice was like silent thunder, at every whisper of a vowel sound an angel was said to disappear under a cloud.
“Hey, Boy” said a custom who walked into the shop.
This was a usually unorthodox saying to Cal, someone calling him ‘Boy’. The ways of the south where ancient and deep but calling Caleb Douglas ‘Boy’ was something you never did. Weather white or a Negro you never called him a boy, and if you did you might find yourself in hole in the back of house. Mayor Lee even called Cal, Sir when talking to him. Caleb had more power than a Negro ought to have in the south. Seeing that he wasn’t a big man, yet you knew that he’d go for a good five hundred at an auction a couple hundred years ago. He turned around and stared at the short and stocky white man. He had a sweat covered trucking cap on and dirty denim blue shirt on with the “Hammer Mill” logo, the hammer mill was an old slaughter house up Interstate 13 in the Leake Country.
“Hey, boy, can you speak”
“Yes” Annoyed with the mans the jerky smell.
“Pour me a cup of that mud.”
“Alright”
“Alright what”
“I don’t call any man, Sir, after he’s called me boy”
“You must be one of those uppity Negroes thinking you better than us American borne White folk.”
“Yes” he poured the cup handed it to him and told him to leave.
The trucker summated to the strong yet softly spoken diction of the old black man. He left the dinner, and with it went his smell of jerky and pork hid. As he left a younger looking boy walked in with a dollar in his pocket and a smile on his face. The kid was Willie Lee Douglas, the teenage grandson of that that silent thunder of a voice, Caleb.
“You sold your first bottle, didn’t you?”
“Yes, pop.”
“What did you get for it?”
“A dollar and a tobacco knife”
“Who’d you sell it too?”
“The Jenson boys, up by the creek.”
The reason why Caleb, had more power than any Negro in Scott County was because he was the biggest moon shiner in these parts. During the time of Temperance the South was Dry, and when I say Dry I mean dryer than a virgin’s Saint Mary if you know what I mean. And after that amendment was appealed by the freest nation in the world. The good Christians folk of the county forgot to take it off the books seeing that they liked seeing the husband sober and not under the influence of the devil drink. Wondering around Lucy’s at night trying to find them some play.
Now you see, making good moonshine is quite an art. It takes lots of time and practice before one can whip up a good batch that sells. Throughout history, there have been many ways of making moonshine. Some folks would add a special ingredient or perform a certain method during the distilling period to make their moonshine taste distinct. Caleb had a special recipe from his mother, a so called Voodoo Queen from the back waters of Louisiana. The Bach he sold to the good christens folk of Forest was special to him it was called, Voodoo Gold, using a special ingredient, other than the corn meal, sugar, malt and yeast. But the process alone was the same. In his wallet was the process his mother thought him. He pulled out the tattered yellow sheet which read:
Mix all ingredients together in a large container. After mixing, move the mixture, called "mash," into a still and leave it to ferment. How quickly this process occurs depends on the warmth of the mash.
Heat the mash to the point of steam till it’ll boil. The mash will produce a clear liquid, often the color of dark mud. You must watch this process with careful attention.
Trap steam using a tube or coil. The steam will be transferred into a second, empty container. The resulting condensation is the moonshine. It is then ready to drink or sell.
Keep mash in container. It is now called "slop." Add more sugar, water, malt, and corn meal and repeat the process.
Repeat the process up to eight times before replacing the mash.