In case anyone is interested the x's on a moonshine jug are supposed to mean how many times the product has been run through a still. Today, Tuesday, I finally got around to listening to a digital file that's been sitting in my recorder for the better part of three years. I kept putting it off; it is the final recording I made with Dad before he passed away. He told some fun stories on that session, even though his speech showed some early strokes taking place.
His grandpa, my great-grandpa, possessed a still in those years when the law said no, you can't make this stuff, prohibition, don't you know. The sheriff of the county must not have liked arresting people for this infringement, so he would call ahead to say he intended to come out and inspect. Great-grandpa feared the consequences and asked his partner what they should do. Partner said to hide it up in the cupola of the barn. So a ladder was gotten and onto the roof they climbed, tore boards off the side of the cupola, and stored it in there.
He told of the time when the sheriff went to a farm where the residents had the reputation of making lots of moonshine. When he left his car to snoop around, family members sneaked behind the car and pushed it into the Sheyenne River. Think of the great story telling that must have come from that episode. At any rate, I value the stories and as I listen, I type, transcribing the words. It's a slow job but worth it. Some day the stories will be set down into a book.
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History takes up the better part of my reading time. A book - Following the Custer Trail of 1876 - outlines the suffering of men and animals on the march westward to the Little Big Horn. Near present day New Salem the weather on May 19 turned sour and a heavy thunderstorm drenched everything. At noon hail began. General Terry in a journal said: "The storm terrified the drenched and bawling herd of beef cattle into a wild stampede! Man and beast alike sustained bruises from this untoward assault from the skies. The drovers tried to keep the herd as contained as possible, to prevent stampede, for the hailstones could be observed literally dancing from the exposed backs of the frightened beasts. Hailstones ripped into the muddied white canvas covers of the wagons like white mini-balls. The cavalry mounts, struck repeatedly, whinnied and snorted in wild-eyed fright and uncertainty..."
I still remember the time when I was a boy seeing a herd of cattle caught in a hailstorm away from shelter. The hailstones were big, some tennis ball sized. Those poor cows didn't know what kind of hell rained down on them that day. I'm sure they must have been bruised badly.
Another bad weather occurrence made for miserable conditions on June 2 at the west side of the Little Missouri River. A snow storm stopped the command. Mark Kellogg, the reporter from the Bismarck Tribune who was killed along with the rest of Custer's men, wrote in his diary: "Reveille at 3 A.M. Looking out inches of snow on ground and snow hard. Has snowed nearly all day. Have not moved. Seven o'clock and snowing harder than ever, wind blowing from northwest, growing colder..." And these were just weather inconveniences. Blisters, heat, mud, poor food, and many other things made for miserable conditions.
