(Associated Press) It was harvest time at Rick Lowe’s split-level home in rural Perry County, and the flypaper above his living room couch swung heavy with the dead.
Down some stairs, behind wooden doors, the pungent laboratory where Lowe practices his reverse alchemy was full of needles and a blowgun and glass jars brimming with things few folks would dare jar.
Bottles of amber liquid on the shelves looked like apple cider, but the nose doesn’t lie.
