"But, when all's said and done, the main reason for this 'moonshining,' as you-uns calls it, is bad roads."
"Bad roads?" I exclaimed. "What the -"
"Jest thisaway: from hyar to the railroad is seventeen miles, with two mountains to cross; and you've seed that road! I recollect you-uns said every one o' them miles was a thousand rods long. Nobody's ever measured them, except by a mountain man's foot-rule - big feet, and a long stride between 'em. Seven hundred pounds is all the load a good team can haul over that road, when the weather's good. Hit takes three days to make the round trip, less'n you break and axle, and then hit takes four. When you do git to the railroad, th'r ain't no town of a thousand people within fifty mile. Now us folks ain't even got wagons. Thar's only one sarviceable wagon in this whole settlement, and you can't hire it without team and driver, which is two dollars and a half a day. Whar one o' our leetle sleds can't go, we haffter pack on mule-back or tussle it on our own wethers. Look, then! The only farm produce we-uns can sell is corn. You see for yourself that corn can't be shipped outen hyar. We can trade hit for store credit - that's all. Corn juice is about all we can tote around over the country and git cash money for. Why, man, that's the only way some folks has o' payin' their taxes!"
(from Our Southern Highlanders, by Horace Kephart)
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