Let me plant another tale here. When my father’s side of the family immigrated to the US some of the “brothers” took jobs in the West Virginia coal mines. The rest settled in New York. One brother stayed in West Virginia and I visited him and his descendants in the Spring of 1976. While driving from the airport into the hills of Clarksburg, I heard a cousin remark, “We need to stop at the liquor store and get some stump juice.” I was indeed perplexed. He went in to the store and came out with a bottle of brown whiskey. I had to know.
“Why do you call it stump juice”, I quizzed.
And it was unfolded. In the days of prohibition, in order to stay a step ahead of the revenuers, bootleggers would hollow out stumps along the tree line. You placed your money in the stump and returned the cover, drove down the road, returned to the stump to retrieve your stump juice.