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The
Good Old Mountain Dew
Now I don't know if you boys in Ireland
ever get involved in a bit of mischief now and then, but if your American
cousins are any indication, you get into good mischief.
When this country was young, it was a common saying that the English built
cities, the Germans built farms and the Irish made whiskey. But oh, what
a wonderful brew it was!
As the nation expanded into the Appalachian mountains along the Atlantic
seaboard and soon into the heart of the continent and into the Ozark mountains,
some Irish found their niche in the New World in the secluded corners,
up in the isolated mountains and away from the throng of civilization.
Your descendants came to these mountains to escape from it all and settle
back to enjoy life without government interference and follow the ideals
of the Founding Fathers of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
While much has been said about these pioneers and settlers, if there was
anything they did well, it was to survive by their own wits and seize
life by the seat of the pants. In the scant places for cultivation, the
Irish made their homes, raised their families and observed the word of
the Lord and with a wink and a nod would wear a rutted path to the back
forty of their craggy domain. There, in the seclusion of a cave, under
a rock shelf or beneath a crude shelter was the instrument of worldly
pleasures in the form of a still.
The name comes from distill, which is really the final stage. First, sweet
white corn must grow to the peak of maturity in the crisp mountain air,
reaped, the long succulent ears tied together and hung to dry then shucked.
The kernels are separated from the cob and stored for the proper time.
Corn needs lots of warm sunlight for germination, which is the next step.
The dried and hardened kernels are spread and immersed in a shallow tray
and soon enough the seemingly lifeless kernels begin to sprout. This is
done because at that special moment in the seedling's life, the sugar
content of the seed is at it's height. When the sprouts reach about two
inches in length, they are placed in a large clay container and mashed,
hence the word ÒmashÓ is used to describe the ingredients.
The mash is combined with yeast and water and set aside. Recipes vary,
but generally a little sugar is added to enhance the fermentation process.
This ÒbeerÓ is watched carefully to determine when the fermentation has
slowed to the proper point, and the brew is then taken to the still to
extract the alcohol.
The fabled still is really a pressure cooker. It is made of copper because
the mash won't burn as easily. Out the conical top, a copper tube arches
out and downward to what is called a thumper barrel which is a secondary
cooker. Old timers called it a thumper barrel because this water pipe
design would ÒthumpÓ as the forced ether bubbled through the water and
out the exit tube. It is said that this thumping could sometimes be heard
for miles, attracting the attention of law enforcement officers or ÒrevenuersÓ
as the Old Timers called them -- federal revenue agents in search of illegally
brewed whiskey.
From the thumper barrel, the copper tube usually spiraled either into
cool water or some other means of cooling to create liquid alcohol from
the ether. At the end of the tube, the corn whiskey dripped through a
charcoal filter because of a poisonous oil that accompanies the alcohol,
and the finished product seeps into any available container.
The alcohol is tested by pouring a small amount into a container and a
match put to it to see if it burns. If it does, it's smooth sailing for
the concoction. The containers are set aside to age, preferably in an
oak barrel which lends a most delicious perk to the whiskey. Homemade
whiskey is commonly called ÒmoonshineÓ or Òmountain dewÓ on this side
of the Atlantic, and while the illicit brewing of whiskey has largely
become a passing note of our history, the two terms are recognized, so
famous and so well did the Irish make their wonder.
Certainly tales made their way into the lore of this intoxicating pastime.
One Appalachian story tells of two brawny fellows who had prepared the
mash, only to return the next day to discover that one of their hogs had
found the bubbling concoction, and had apparently found the stuff so delicious,
it had literally eaten itself to death and lay floating. Undaunted, the
two men decided to distill the remainder of their labors and discovered
that the end result was a most potent and flavorsome run of whiskey. The
tale spread throughout the region and found it's place when someone samples
a powerful mouthful and says, ÒTastes like a dead hog in thar'.Ó
Our hats are off to you, fine Irish, for lending this to our land
I leave you with this lively tune, still popular today. :
OLD MOUNTAIN DEW
My uncle Bill has a still on the hill where he runs off a gallon or two.
And the buzzards in the sky get so dizzy they can't fly,
When they whiff the good old mountain dew.
My uncle Mort is sawed off and short, he stands just four feet and two.
He feels like a giant when he drinks up a pint of the good old mountain
dew.
(chorus)
It's the good old mountain dew,
i t's the good old mountain dew.
You can tell quite well by the whiff and the smell,
it's the good old mountain dew.
By
Fred Roe
12th December 2002
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