moonshine

A few days ago, I wrote about the lessons I'd learned while a young journalist in North Georgia on how to safely drink illegal alcohol (Moonshine Days). Probably because I had moonshine on my mind, I ended sharing stories about it with family and friends during a recent visit to the state. Just to let you know, my father, a retired entomologist from the University of Georgia, swears that he has disposed of the moonshine stock they once kept in the basement. Even though it tasted great. Really. But beyond trading drinking experiences, the most interesting conversation I had was with old friend…

My first job out of college, I was a police reporter for a small newspaper in North Georgia, situated in rolling foothills of the southern Appalachian mountains. Moonshine country, in fact. I was hardly a month on the job when agents at the local office of the federal government's Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) offered to let me accompany them on a raid to break up a still. From which I learned that those back-mountain stills tend to be pretty grubby looking. I got a better education in moonshine - or white liquor as most folks called it - from local firefighters. I hung out at the fire…