“Once they had the barrel on flat, dry ground, Hiram pried open the lid. The pungent air set free from the mess of fermenting corn smelled exactly like pineapples. Shine couldn’t fill her lungs up fast enough. She had only ever savored one of the strange, spiky-headed fruits—- for Christmas one year, a rare treat in these parts—- but she had declared it “divine.” That sweetness in the escaping air was a good sign.”
Book:The Moonshine Women