The promise of spring . . .

I know that people really can’t “roll in the grave”, which is what, if it were humanly possible, my teetotaling Great Grandmother Adelaide would have been doing last night while I was bottling up and capping said spirits in the kitchen long after everyone else had begun to slumber. Maybe the fact that I waited to do this late at night, in quiet solitude means somewhere back in my ancestry, there might have been some moon shiners doing the same thing in the backwoods of northern Alabama. But wait, Great Grandmother was a teetotaler.