Our Story — Dead Bird Brandy | Shelburne Orchards Distillery

What’s in a name? The story of the Dead Bird name is Cowles’ family lore passed down generations ago. It’s an American story of a Prohibition-era moonshiner that happened to be my grandfather.

The ‘Dead Bird’ Story

My grandfather, about 30 years after the dead bird was found in the snow.

“I can tell you a story about that little bird...it all goes back to the day your grandfather’s still caught fire.” With a metal cast of a dead bird in hand and a quizzical look on my face, I turned to find an old man clutching his cane with a twinkle in his eye. We were at my grandfather’s funeral--a man with whom I didn’t think I had much in common. Perhaps, I had been wrong. As we sat down on a leather couch in my late grandfather’s living room, this old friend of his launched into a story set during prohibition.

"It was a cold winter night--well below zero--and everything was covered in snow. Your great grandmother was entertaining guests upstairs, while your grandfather was busy in the basement distilling whiskey. Somehow the still caught fire and all the dinner guests were rushed out into the cold night. The fire trucks and, of course, the state revenuer arrived. It was commonplace for the revenuer to show up to investigate back then--they were looking for any sign that alcohol might be the cause of the fire. And when that revenuer approached the house, one of the firemen 'accidentally' turned and hosed him down head to toe. You see, those firemen were buying booze from your grandpa illegally. So the revenuer had to scurry home and change clothes to avoid freezing solid. When he returned warm and dry, all evidence of the still had been hidden away. And the dinner guests had their stories straight. They testified to the 'fact' that a log rolled out of the fireplace and lit the place ablaze! “

“The next morning as your grandfather inspected the remains of his home and thought about how close he had been to getting arrested, he found a small songbird in the snow that had died in the fire. So he took that bird and had it bronzed. And made copies for all the dinner guests and firemen, to thank them for keeping his secret and saving him from the law!"

I left that night with a sense of contentment, realizing that I had more in common with my grandfather than I thought. Distilling was in my blood.