I received word of the death of a friend. He was a genuine old-timey mountain man, and a moonshiner deluxe. Like the legendary Popcorn Sutton (pictured above), my friend moved easily among the hills and hollers of this region, fashioning well-crafted stills and firing them with wood he cut himself, filling them with clear, cold spring water that trickled through the cuts and valleys beneath stands of oak and rhododendron. Unlike Mr. Sutton, my friend owned and ran a respectable business and his moonshining was strictly a side venture. He was a master at distilling corn down into the potent clear liquid that so many have savored. Who can number…