Today is, I’m told, National Moonshine Day.  To celebrate, I offer you my short story The Plum. 

It should be noted that The Plum is very much a real thing and not a product of my imagination.

I was first introduced to it on a camping trip on the Williams River in Pocahontas County.  The more manly and womanly amongst us made a point of “eating the plum” — I wasn’t one of them.

The Plum gets its name, of course, from the plums that are placed in the jar.  Moonshine is poured over and the plums are allowed to steep.  The ‘shine turns a beautiful color and the moonshine is flavored with ripe plum.

I’ve lived in West Virginia since 1985.  Moonshine is de rigueur when non-Appalachians visit.  When you live in a barn, folks expect you to have moonshine.  I seldom comply.  The real stuff is hard to come by and kind of expensive.   On principle, I refuse to buy the legal stuff.  I’m not sure what the principle is, but toddling down to the liquor store and buying a quart of moonshine doesn’t feel authentic.

I made up the origin story.  I have no idea if it’s a hundred-year-old recipe or concocted for the first time in the early ’90s when I first tasted it.  But I’ve tasted it at various intervals and it’s good.  Really good.  Although, a sip or two will do me.  Mercy, a quart would last me a decade.

The Williams River is my happy place.  It’s my favorite spot on the planet.  I am so thankful for that one 4th of July where I got to experience all of the wonder and power and magic of a bunch of hillbillies camping, playing music, and sipping The Plum.

And, if you’d like to hear me reading The Plum, here ya go:

Willy and Me on the Williams River