Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Leat Finds Johnny's Still

Leat Finds Johnny's Still


Clip-Art from: Google Images
  by Elizabeth Whisenant Towery.

Leat asked his nephew Talmadge [whom I shall address as Tal] to go with him up the C.C. Road to look for some holly and greenery for Christmas decoration. It was about the year 1943. Leat had no car, so he was in the habit of having Tal go with him places. Tal told Leat ”Get in the car and I’ll take you up the mountain.” Tal was driving his dad's car although he had no license, but then very few drivers had licenses in the Valley and no one seemed to care.

They went to a certain point and Leat said "Let me out here.‘ As Leat got out of the car he said ‘Tal, you go on up the mountain, and see if you see any holly. Turn and come back for me. If I'm not here at this place when you get back, I'll be here soon."

Tal told he had no interest in holly, but went on up the mountain to turn the car around. When he traveled down to about where he had let Leat out, Leat was standing at the side of the road motioning for him to stop. Leat told Tal he had found Johnny’s still and that Johnny and two more people were in the still working.

Leat said, to Tal ‘I’m going back in (to the still); now as soon as Johnny leaves, you go on home.‘ Tal said, “he had already figured out why Leat wanted to look for Christmas decorations on the mountain, and he was glad to leave him in the woods.’ Folk in the Valley thought it a low-down dirty shame to interfere with, report on, or bother a man's seel and Tal respected the older folk feelings.

The government allowed some people to make whiskey. The folk in the Valley thought it no worse for them to make whisky than for the govern-ment to choose someone to make government whiskey. The folk always had ‘Huler’ (Schyler) McCurry to point their finger at, for he was making what the government called whisky and had a piece of paper he called a license tacked up on the door of his house to prove that he had government approval. It seems that the whisky makers all had this attitude about government made whisky.

The piece of paper had nothing to do with whiskey making as far as Valley folk were concerned. They said, ”It never had.… and never would have.” Tal had been out of the woods for quite a while when the next time he saw Leat, he said, ‘He had carried a five-gallon demijohn out of the woods, down the mountain and up the hill to his mother’s house,’ Leat lived with his mother. Leat said, ‘I left Johnny one demijohn in the still, I figured it was worth one five-gallon jug for not reporting him.’ Leat had taken his demijohn to the barn. He told Tal, that Johnny cut and cleared five acres of his Pa's (grand pa’s) timber while making liquor.

Tal felt obligated to tell his Pa what Leat had said, but didn't really want his folks to know that he had been with Leat; not while Leat was watching a man work in his still. Tal’s said his Pa, Higgins Towery, kept his nose out of his neighbors' business and probably thought his grand children would too.

Tal told his Pa "Leat said Johnny has cleared five acres of land for you, up, on the mountain.’ Instinctively Tal's Pa knew what Leat had been doing on the mountain. The mountain was Higgins' birthplace, so naturally he would have to go to the mountain to see for himself what Tal was talking about. Pa had said, before that he thought Leat sometimes stretched the truth a ‘little bit.’ He would need to see what was going on about
his timberland for himself. It was the Old ‘Shuff’ Shuford Towery place, Tal’s great grand fathers old home place.

Higgins had Tal drive him up to ‘The old place.’ He wanted to see what Leat had found. Tal and his grand pa walked over Shuff's place and Higgins discovered that Johnny actually had cleared an estimated five acres of the young pines in the stand. The timber that stood there was in its prime ready to harvest. Higgins discovered that Johnny had placed moss on the fresh-cut tree stumps to hide the cutting from the prying helicopters that law enforcement had recently been using to find the mountain stills. Those helicopters were a new aid for the law in its enforcement of the whiskey ban.

Leat had been sawing logs for a sawmill at this time, but he sawed no logs the following week--not after he said he had ‘toted ’ that demijohn on his shoulder for pert nearly three miles‘. The sawmill he worked at had to shut down the full week since there wasn't enough help that showed up to operate the mill. About eight men, including Leat, all lay intoxicated for the entire week. Tal said, ‘Leat told that there weren’t nary a drop left in that ‘tare’ demijohn when he went to get him a little sip to sober up on before going to work on onday morning, the week after his trip to hunt holly and Christmas decorations.

Note: This story is written using the words that Tal said were used to him by his uncle in giving the parts of the story that took place in Tal's absents.

Source: Talmadge Towery.
Written September 7, 2003.
All rights reserved.

Note: 1-The house where Schyler McCurry made government whiskey still stands. It is the last house in Golden Valley before crossing into the Sunshine Community on the Golden Valley/Sunshine Road. Some know this road as State #1006 today. I have been in the house after John Toney and his Wife Mallie McCurry owned it. The house is shown on a 1905 map and belonged to the McCurry heirs. It now belongs to John and Mallie’s son Paul Jake and his spouse Imagean Lovelace Toney.


Note: 2 -Talmadge said,he drove his dad's car without licenses until he was twenty-one years old, before being stopped by Edley Beam, a law officer. Edley gave him a verbal warning, then Talmadge got his licenses…..bettytowery@att.net

Distilling Golden Valley Prime


Tim Ferris with his German Kothe still

How'dee, Miss Minnie might say. How ya'll doin"? Funny thing happened on the way here tonight.... And Miss Minnie herself wouldn't have been a bit more surprised than I was when Timmy Ferris, a young feller I've known since he was a teen, replied to my email with the iPhone mobile location: the distillery. So, I email Tim, "When will you be back in the valley?" My phone rings, Tim's called me, "Um," he says, "When's the last time you were here?"

Ah hem. A lot has happened at the Ferris' since the 4th of July, pig pickin, and fireworks show. I was so surprised I only just now realized Tim has mobile service at Grayson Creek. Surprise, surprise, surprise.

All stories start somewhere and Blue Ridge Distilling Company has a start, too. This world-class distillery has been conceived of created and constructed by commercial divers - a salvage team. Professionals in a world where a single goof can be your last. My daddy was a Merchant Seaman, as was Uncle SA; Uncle John was a Navy pilot, so it's not hard for me to imagine how these commercial divers considered maybe, someday building a still. I mean, who hasn't? Considering it and actual construction however, are two different things.

Do you know Tim? He's a pretty innovative guy and he's a can do, go to, kind of a fellow, who gets things done. From the beginning they had the site picked out, all that remained was a few pesky details: acquire a $137,000 still, 6 or 8 stainless holding tanks, bottling equipment, three phase electricity, water, and oh-yeah, licensing. Federal licensing.

All that's behind them now and Blue Ridge Distilling Co. is set to open for business, soon. They'll be making the barley grist with a Meadow Mills NC pink granite stone-mill. Water will come from a new well sunk deep into blue granite that's only one ph point off from being perfect, Tim says, for making liquor. They plan to brew single-malt vodka, whiskey,and seasonal fruit brandy.

Office Manager, Valerie Blanchette says "Tim will be buying local malted barley and rye, seasonal fruits - peaches, pears, and apples." At full operation the distillery will employ 10 - 15 people.
And mobile phones? Can you check in at the distillery? Let's save that for another story.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Bostic, NC 28018 - Feed our Children!

Bostic, NC 28018 November 21, 2011 Feed our Children!

Did you know the Washburn Community Outreach is sending backpacks home for 100 school children every weekend? They need your help - please donate food/funds to this important program.

Drinks


1 Cereal Bar

1 Pack. Instant Grits

1 Pack Oatmeal

1 Vienna Sausage or Beenie Weenie

1 Applesauce of Fruit Cup 1 Pack Poptarts

1 Pack Peanut Butter Crackers

1 Snack

1 Chicken Noodle Soup & Crackers or Chef Boyardee

1 Ramen Noodle

1 Pudding or Jello

1 Mac & Cheese (single serve just add water)

The Washburn Community Outreach is now serving 100 students, this is food for the

local children to take home for the weekend.
 
Outreach is open Friday and Saturday - at 828 245-5603
or Karen 828 245-9003
 
Bostic NC 28018 - Feed our children

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Golden Valley Veterans

(21) Golden Valley


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Golden Valley
On Veteran's Day, our own Mrs. Elizabeth Towery shares:

Older Veterans Old History of Revolutionary War Pensions
The first Revolutionary War pensions were offered in 1818 to officers and enlisted men in need of financial assistance.
Veterans had to prove they had served in the Continental Army (not in a state militia) for at least nine months.

In 1820 pensioners on the roll were required to submit a list of the property they owned, in order to prove need.
Pensioners who could not prove need were dropped from the roll. Many were later restored under a subsequent act. In 1832 Congress passed an important new law, providing pensions for Revolutionary veterans who had served two years in either the Continental line or a state militia. They were entitled to an annual payment equal to their wartime pay. Those who had served between six months and two years were also eligible, but for less than full pay. In 1836 widows of veterans who would have been eligible under the 1836 act

To day I salute all veterans in what ever state they may be. Active, retired ,on call in the hospitals ect.
Their services to our country is one of the greatest sacrifices any man or woman has ever made or is making. May we be contented to do our part also.

By law, when a person is called up to serve in the Armed Forces companies/ businesses are required to hold that
persons job open and available, but nothing more. Usually, people take a big pay cut and lose benefits as a result of being called up.

Sears is voluntarily paying the difference in salaries and maintaining all benefits, including medical
insurance and bonus programs, for all called up reservist employees for up to two years.
Sears regards

Widows could apply to draw their husband’s pension, provided their marriage had taken place before
the expiration of his last term of military service. In 1838 the provision for widows was expanded to include
all those who had married their veteran prior to Jan. 1, 1794. In 1848 the marriage date was changed to January 2, 1800,
and in 1853 all restrictions on the date of marriage were removed.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Community News Letter October, 2011

The link's not purty, but it works. Ya'll come! Dish and a dollar - Chivous Bradley will be there, we're going to have a good time. Be there or... be quare. http://myemail.constantcontact.com/Community-Newsletter.html?soid=1102382229068&aid=gPUmAkaQeVY

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Cherry Bounce

It is a joy this month to have a guest author I've known for more than ten years. We wrote together at the Fireside Writer's Forum, back in the days when we met upstairs at the local Fireside Book Store. Joey has written a number of short stories, but this one, set at the Cherry Bounce Festival, is near and dear to my valley dwelling heart. This story has been expanded to a novel. A PDF copy of the novel is available for download or on CD for $4.99. Please contact the author: j.wessier101@gmail.com to reserve your copy.



Local Author J Wessier, biography: I began with playwriting. I wrote seven plays produced on collegiate and community theater levels, including a play called Slow Train A’Comin written for Arkansas’s sesquicentennial celebration. From there, I segued into writing poetry, short stories, and novels. I won the Portia Steele Award for Excellence in Prose, placed second in the North Carolina Christian Writers Short Fiction Contest, and published numerous poems and short stories over the years. I am currently marketing a southern literary novel that is an expanded vision of this short story, Cherry Bounce.



CHERRY BOUNCE

By J. Wessier


When Brody McDarey cursed a soul it stuck.

He believed Amos Sams stole his hoe and neither seed nor
weed grew in the man's fields until the day a new hoe mysteriously
showed up on McDarey's porch.

The righteous Billy Weedle happened upon McDarey's still
while hunting one fall. After the Sheriff busted it up, Weedle's
barn was struck by lightening and burned to the ground. Then
his best hunting dog went rabid. Then his wife started
talking to angels and spouting verse while dancing in the
cornfield -- in just her baggy underdrawers.

The worst curse came down on the head of Ricky Thomas.
McDarey caught him in the apple orchard with his oldest daughter.
Ricky had to marry the ill-tempered, spoiled girl. The miserable
boy counts himself among the most wretched on this earth.

McDarey was not a man to betray. If he stepped in someone's
path they crossed themselves three times, like he was a black
cat, then purged themselves with Castor oil first chance.

The only truly good thing about McDarey was his youngest
daughter, Marigold. She was pretty and smart and sweet as clover
honey. How she was born of massive McDarey and his plain, plump
wife was a mystery most folks in Golden Valley had pondered
at least twice.

Marigold tuned seventeen in spring, shortly before the
Cherry Bounce Festival. A few days after her birthday her daddy
told her in a "don't you fuss" tone that he'd had a good long
talk with the well-to-do Mason Grimm. They'd decided their
children should marry.

The blush in Marigold's cheeks drained, leaving her face
white as her daddy's Sunday shirt. She dropped the bowl
she was drying, threw her towel down on the wood floor and ran
from the cabin.

McDarey turned to his wife and said, "She'll get use to
the idea, give her time."

His wife pointed after Marigold. "You said the same thing
about her wearing a bonnet. You see anything but a mass of
gold hair on her head?"

He shook his head.

"You said she'd get use to wearing shoes. Notice anything
on her feet as she ran outa here?"

Again he shook his head.

"And you said she'd get use to not going to school when
you pulled her out to start helping 'round here after Annie
got married."

"And she did get use to that," McDarey said, sticking his
pointed chin out.

"What do you think Marigold and Missy Toney do every
afternoon in the sittin' parlor?"

He shrugged. "How should I know, I'm out workin'"

Missy comes here straight from school and teaches Marigold

the lessons she learned that day. That girl is still getting
schoolin'."

He crossed his arms. "She ain't getting around this."

His misses turned back to the dishes to hide the smile
on her face.

McDarey went out on the porch, pulled his corn pipe from
one deep pocket, plucked a stray piece of straw off the plank
floor, touched it to the flame in the hanging lantern, and lit
it. He took a long pull on the pipe and began thinking about
how he could make sure his strong willed daughter wouldn't get
around marrying the Grimm boy. By the time he finished the
bowl he knew what he had to do.

He set his pipe on his wife's rocker, stepped to the porch's
edge, squared his stance and raised his arms skyward. With
a passion that would pale even the most turbulent of storms,
McDarey said, "I curse any love that comes between Marigold
and Grimm. Love will die less it be love for him." He held,
rigid and resolute, like a mighty granite boulder, immovable.

Marigold, crying in the garden, felt more than heard his
words. They whipped around her, a chilly dust-devil that made
her shiver.

For the next week McDarey made it known throughout the
valley that his daughter would wed Grimm and no other suitor's
attentions were welcome. The news broke the hearts of a
least four local boys, but they all knew better than to cross
McDarey.

Marigold moped from morn 'til night. She spoke only when
spoken to and seemed to find no joy in anything the day had
to offer. Come the Saturday of the Cherry Bounce Festival,
it took her mother two hours of coaxing and the harsh order
from her daddy to motivate her to dress and go.

"I've given my word you'll sing this day," he shouted.
"My word is stone. You're going and you'll sing."

Marigold rode in the back of the wagon, head down, bonnet
in hand, bare feet dangling off the back all the way up Cherry
Mountain. At the festival she stayed to herself, avoiding
the anemic, pasty, jitter-lip, James Grimm. She waited among
the cherry trees for her turn to step up on the makeshift stage
and sing. As she watched the dancing and gaming from the orchard
she was startled by a rich, tenor voice singing,

"My love is a rose,
A deep red rose. . ."

She walked a little further into the orchard and found
a tall young man, eyes closed, singing with the most beautiful
voice she'd ever heard. He was slender, but broad shouldered.
His hair was dark, his face angular and smooth, his mouth full,
and his eyes . . . when he opened his eyes they were the golden
brown of fresh cut wheat.

He caught Marigold peeking around the thick trunk of an
ancient cherry tree and choked on the high note he held. He
coughed until he doubled over.

Marigold ran to his side and pounded on his back. "Are
you all right?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

He straightened, his face red. "I am if you haven't broken
any ribs pounding on my back."

She covered her mouth with her hand and spoke through her
fingers. "I'm - I'm sorry. I was trying to help."

He smiled down at her. "I'm surely much better for you
being here."

She dropped her head.

He gently pulled her hand away from her face then cupped
her chin and lifted her head. "You have such a pretty face,"
he said. "I'd prefer to see it."

She stole a glance at him then looked down again. With
her eyes on his scuffed boots she softly said, "You're not from
the valley, are you?"

"Beg your pardon?"

She swallowed her shyness and looked up. "You're not from
here."

"No. I'm from Rutherfordton." He jammed his hands in
his pockets. "I came to sing. I was practicing when you --
you --"

"Scared God's good sense outa you?"

He shook his head and looked into her eyes. "You took
my breath away."

After a long moment Marigold realized she was staring up
at him with her mouth open. She clamped it shut.

"Were you going to say something?" he asked.
"No -- yes -- I was -- going to ask your name."

"Bobby May. My mother is the daughter of Doc Bacon and
my father owns the Mercantile in Rutherfordton." He seemed
to stand a little taller when he spoke of his family. "What's your name?"

Afraid he might have heard of her daddy, she
hesitated.

"You do have a name don't you? Or maybe you're one of
those wood fairies my grandmother said stowed away with her
Scottish ancestors when they came over."

"I am, Sir. And if you should learn my true name -- and
speak it -- you would forever own my heart."

He grinned and it made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Then Miss, I will make it my life's quest to discover your
name."

Marigold wished she was a wood fairy. She wished she wasn't
a McDarey promised to a Grimm. She wished Bobby could free
her from the bonds of her daddy's will by just speaking her
name. She reached past Bobby to a fruit heavy branch and
plucked a ripe, red cherry. Holding it out she said, "So you
don't waste your life on a fool's quest, I'll give you a hint."

He started to say, "Cherry," but she hushed him with the
tips of her fingers to his lips.

"Shhhhh. Don't speak my name 'less you're sure to the
soul you want my heart forever."

She heard someone yell, "Booooobby. Bobby May."

"I've got to go," he said. "Must be my turn to sing.

Will you come and hear?"

"I wouldn't miss it. You go. I'll be there in a minute."

He left and she followed a few minutes later. By the time she
squeezed her way through the crowd to the front a fiddler and
a dulcimer player were picking out the beginning of a song.

Bobby's full voice rose above the music, above the noise
of the crowd, above the wind. It filled the area around
Marigold like the heat off a woodstove, chasing the spring
chill from her.

Some loves come upon a person slow and low, like fog
creeping up the mountain. Some hit like summer thunder, rattling
a body to the bone. That's how love hit Marigold, leaving her

breathless and dizzy like she'd been sipping the cherry bounce.
He found her in the crowd and sang to her,

"My love is like a rose,
A Cherry red rose."

Your love is a Marigold, she thought. A scared, yellow Marigold.
She knew she didn't have the backbone to go against her daddy. She
would end up a Grimm, a lonely, miserable Grimm.

While Bobby finished the last verse of his song, she made her way to
the side of the stage and whispered to the dulcimer player there. When
Bobby stepped down, she stepped up.

She couldn't give herself to him in marriage, she couldn't even give him
any hope or promise. But she could give him every bit of the love she had
in her for the few moments it took to sing. And sing she did.

A hush blanketed the crowd, the field, the very mountain. Her voice and
song touched every ear and heart. Bobby stood at the side his eyes only
on her, his love only for her.

She took a deep breath and sang the last word and note of the song, "Forever,"
in a note high and pure, filled with all the love she had, all the pain she felt.
It hung on the wind for countless moments drawing tears and sighs from
every living thing able to hear or feel. The beautiful note faded as her breath
 left her and she sank slowly to her knees. At the end she laid gently down,
her head on her arm, her eyes on Bobby -- and never took another breath.

Since that time, if you stand still among the trees on Cherry Mountain, you can
hear a sad, lilting, pure note winding in and out of the branches, going on and on
like the last breath of undying love.

And then, following the scent of cherry blossoms, you can hear the hollow howl
of a broken man as he held his lifeless daughter.

When Brody McDarey cursed a soul -- it stuck.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

September, Community Newsletter

http://myemail.constantcontact.com/Community-Newsletter-August-2011.html?soid=1102382229068&aid=9XJiP5Cpk-0 Wish that was a prettier blog link, but it's what came through on an automatic post. This is the newsletter with the community announcements: Camp McCall, Fairview Mountain Ministries, Washburn Community Outreach, Golden Valley Community Club, Hospice and an original story by our own story-teller Elizabeth Towery on old fashined dentistry in Golden Valley. You'll love it. All this and more....