Forest Still Moonshiners White Lightning Liquor Golf Balls

Silas, a solitary soul with a beard that rivaled Spanish moss, sat hunched over his copper contraption nestled deep within a forgotten Appalachian holler. Moonlight, his only companion besides a one-eyed tomcat named Scratch, filtered through the dense canopy, illuminating the bubbling concoction within the pot. Silas hummed a low tune, more for his own amusement than anything, as he adjusted the fire with gnarled, calloused hands. Every pop and gurgle from the still was a symphony to his ears, a promise of the smooth, potent moonshine he crafted. Scratch, perched on a nearby crate, flicked his remaining eye at the bubbling liquid, a silent partner in Silas's solitary trade. Here, amidst the whispering pines and the watchful gaze of the moon, Silas found his solace, his rebellion against a world that had no place for a man who preferred the company of his own thoughts and the sweet burn of his white lightning. Artist Joseph Alanen (1885–1920)