Burks Spring: A Legend Rises from Beneath the Red Wax

Long before the dripping red wax became one of the most recognizable symbols in bourbon, another story was unfolding deep in the rolling hills of Kentucky. Beneath the postcard beauty of winding roads, towering rickhouses, and the quiet charm of a world-famous distillery lies the foundation of an older legacy—one still quietly acknowledged through historical markers scattered across the property, though often passed by without a second glance. For most visitors, those names and dates feel like distant history. But generations before the modern distillery became an icon, another family built a life beside that spring-fed creek, crafting bourbon that once carried a powerful reputation throughout Kentucky.

This episode travels through the rise and fall of that forgotten foundation—from frontier settlement and early bourbon making… to the devastation of Prohibition and the bootleggers who helped erase nearly every trace of it. Over time, the old names faded. The whiskey disappeared. And eventually, the land became home to one of the most beloved distilleries in the world. Yet hidden inside old stories, overlooked markers, and even a surviving bottle from another era, pieces of that lost history remained quietly waiting.

And then, decades later, a simple hobby between a family descendent and his friends unexpectedly reopened the door to the past. What started as curiosity—not a mission to revive a family empire—slowly transformed into something far more meaningful as one man realized the bourbon he was recreating was directly connected to the very legacy his ancestors had left behind. Today, only a small number of people even know that bourbon exists again. But after hearing this story, you’ll understand why the ground beneath Maker’s Mark carries a history far older than the red wax itself.

Feel free to email your thoughts about the episode or the show in general at thebourbonprincipal.com. I would love to hear from you!

Thank you for listening to Bourbon: Legends from the Trail, where history meets flavor and every bottle has a story to tell.  Cheers to the stores and legends behind the Spirit! Please leave a rating and review as it will help me plan future episodes.

Transcript

Last year, 2.7 million people made their way to Kentucky to travel the bourbon trail. And among all the stops along that winding path, one stands near the very top—a place known for a soft, wheated bourbon, sealed with that unmistakable drip of red wax… Maker’s Mark.

And the journey to this hallowed destination is every bit a part of the experience.

As you make your way toward the distillery in Loretto, the road carries you through Bardstown—a town often called one of the most beautiful small towns in America, and referred to as the Bourbon Capital of the World. Its downtown square is lined with shops, restaurants, and bars, each one holding its own piece of Kentucky charm. It’s easy to linger there… easy to get comfortable.

But the real journey begins when you leave it behind.

Just past Bardstown, the scenery opens wide. Rolling hills stretch in every direction, framed by forests and fields of deep green. Corn and wheat sway in the breeze as the road begins to wind—tight turns, gentle climbs, and sudden dips—pulling you deeper into Kentucky’s story.

Not far along, you pass through Holy Cross, a settlement founded by Basil Hayden, who led more than a hundred Catholic families into this land seeking refuge from government taxation on grain and whiskey.

The deeper you go, the quieter it gets. Then, just outside Loretto… they rise. Rickhouses. Tall, aging structures—some old, some new—standing in long rows, holding hundreds of thousands of barrels. Silent. Patient. Breathing in the Kentucky seasons.

And just a few miles beyond them… you arrive. Passing through simple creekstone gates, you crest a hill. For a brief moment, everything disappears. Then, as you ease down the other side, the valley reveals itself.

There it is. Tucked into the hollow, just off to the left—the distillery, resting alongside the winding waters of Hardin’s Creek. As you step out, your anticipation begins to build. A brick walkway stretches out ahead, leading you down the hill toward what was once the old family farmhouse. Now it is a beautifully restored visitor center and cocktail bar filled with artwork representing KY’s wildlife and nature. On either side of the walkway, blooming hydrangeas spill over in soft white clusters…flowering trees sway overhead, while beds of vibrant flowers—pinks, purples, yellows—layer the landscape like brushstrokes on a canvas.

It’s more than just a path… It’s an invitation… drawing you into the heart of the property. And as you move closer, the past begins to reveal itself.

An old office building. Rickhouses. A barreling facility.
And the stillhouse—where original cypress fermenting tanks, standing beside their brothers made of steel, quietly hold onto memories from long ago..

To most who walk these grounds, it feels complete. Intentional. As though it all began right here—just as it stands today.

But that’s not the whole story. Because these old buildings… hold a secret. A quiet one. The kind that thousands pass by every year without ever noticing. Long before the red wax… before the Samuels family introduced their name to the world… this land belonged to another family.

It carried a different name. One that has nearly slipped away with time.

Today, we tell the story of that forgotten foundation…the story of a family who first settled this valley… Who built along its waters… And dammed the creek that still bends through it today.

And we’ll introduce not only the man who first saw something in this land… but his great-great-great grandson—a man who has brought that legacy back to life by recreating the very bourbon once made in those cypress tanks.

Today… we bring the legend of Burks Spring home…..to the valley it never truly left.

Here is a quote from the early 1900’s:

“This bottle of Old Happy Hollow bourbon is the most wonderful whiskey that was ever made. It is the mingled souls of Wisconsin rye and Kentucky corn. In it you will see the sunbeams chasing each other over the billowy fields, the dews of the night, the wealth of summer, and autumn’s rich content…all gilded with imprisoned light. Drink it and you will hear the songs of men and maidens fair, mingled with the laughter of children as they sing Old Kentucky Home. Drink it and through your veins you will feel the starlit dawn, the dreamy, tawny dusks of many perfect days. For many years this liquid joy has been imprisoned within its happy staves of Oak, awaiting the opportunity to touch the lips of man. Its mission in life is to heal the sick, produce mirth, laughter, and good fellowship.”

Our story begins on a cool morning in the late 1790s.

A low curtain of fog clung to the earth, drifting along a narrow creek bed as Charles eased his horse forward. The world felt hushed…as if it were holding its breath. Even the smallest sounds—the creak of leather, the soft press of hooves into wet soil—seemed to disappear into the stillness.

And then… it opened. The land revealed itself slowly. The tight corridor of creek and timber gave way to something broader…something waiting. Rolling fields stretched beneath gentle Kentucky hills. The creek widened, bending in a lazy S-shape, its water slipping quietly over a limestone bed worn smooth by time.

There was nothing loud about it. Nothing dramatic. But to Charles… it felt right. He wasn’t just passing through. He knew that.

He had left behind Maryland—home, certainty, all that was familiar—in search of something new for his family. Doubt followed him, sure, but so did memories of his family before him. If his Scottish ancestors could cross an ocean for the unknown land of promise, then he could make this journey too.

Like families such as Jacob Beam and Martin Hardin, Charles was running from something… as much as toward it. Taxes. The government had begun pressing hard on farmers, reaching into grain bins and whiskey barrels alike to pay off war debts. What once felt like victory now felt like burden. The frontier offered something different—space, freedom… possibility.

And on that cool, fog-draped morning, standing beside that spring-fed creek, Charles Burks knew—he had found his place. What began as an idea quickly took form.

A farmhouse rose first. Then barns. Smoke curled into the Kentucky sky from cooking fires and blacksmith forges. Fences stretched across the land. Crops took root.

A life… was forming. But Charles wasn’t content with simply surviving. He saw more.

Like his neighbors, he planted corn and wheat—grains that thrived here, where rye and barley had struggled. But there was a problem shared by every farmer—the nearest gristmills were miles away.

So Charles turned to the creek. Steady. Reliable. Constant.

With permission, he set to work damming the spring-fed waterway. Timber by timber, stone by stone, he built something that would change not just his life—but the lives of those around him. A paddle wheel rose from the current, harnessing the quiet strength of the flowing water.

And the gristmill came alive. Grain from his fields—and from neighboring farms—was ground by that turning wheel. And the water…filtered through layers of limestone, rich with calcium…carried a clean sweetness.

Charles understood something important. What the mill could not use…would not be wasted.

The leftover grain, combined with that mineral-rich water, held potential—something beyond sustenance. Something enduring. It could become whiskey. Not the rye whiskey of Maryland—but something new. Corn-based. Born from this land.

And so, in that quiet valley—where the creek bent like a signature across the earth—something more than a farm was taking shape. Something more than a mill. A legacy…was beginning.

Charles began making his bourbon, and it didn’t take long for word to spread. There was something distinct about it—something that carried the character of the land itself. People noticed. And for Charles… he had it all. Family. Farm. Gristmill. And a distillery.

But time…has a way of moving forward, whether we’re ready or not.

What Charles built did not end with him. It passed down through generations—first to his son Richard, then to William Marcus, and finally to his great-grandson, George Richard Burks.

By the time George took hold of the property, the operation had grown into something established…recognized. The Burks distillery was producing labels known as Burks Spring Bourbon, Belle of Loretto Rye, and Old Happy Hollow bourbon. These were the label names that carried weight…they meant something, known all around as whiskey worth taking time to savor.

But the world beyond those rolling Kentucky hills was shifting once again. The temperance movement was gaining strength, its voice growing louder with each passing year until it became impossible to ignore. And then came Prohibition—what they called The Great Experiment. Thirteen long years where it became illegal to buy, sell, transport, or make bourbon.

Across Kentucky… distilleries—once the lifeblood of communities—went dark. Historians still debate the exact number lost, but most agree there were around 500 before Prohibition took hold. Only six were allowed to survive. Six…were granted the rare privilege of a medicinal license issued by the government, giving them the right to sell already stored whiskey for medicinal reasons.

Burks Spring distillery was not one of them. George had no choice. The stills went silent. The doors closed. And just when it seemed it couldn’t get worse…it did.

Because Prohibition didn’t stop demand—it only drove it underground. And one man, in particular, saw opportunity in that chaos: George Remus, known as the King of Bootleggers. He wasn’t just buying distilleries for their supply—he was taking what he wanted. George and his men raided rickhouses all over KY and Indiana. Barrels disappeared into a vast, illegal network that stretched far beyond Kentucky. (you can hear more about Remus and his empire in a 2 part series in Season 1 called Crown of Shadows: The Prohibition King’s Rise and Fall)

And the Burks Spring distillery…fell into his crosshairs. Not only was the distillery shut down…almost all of its stored bourbon was taken. Everything Charles had built—everything passed down through generations—was slipping away.

George made a decision. He packed up his family and left Loretto behind. George retired from working and he and the family moved to Louisville. Leaving behind him….the Burks farm… the distillery… and the home his children had been born in.

That home. Perched above it all, overlooking the distillery like a silent sentinel…watched as the life beneath it faded into memory.

The property changed hands multiple times in the years that followed. The gristmill, the distillery—once full of purpose—passed from owner to owner, each one further removed from the vision that had started it all.

Until…1953. That’s when two young dreamers arrived.

Bill and Margie Samuels.

With a payment of just $35,000, they stepped into a place already rich with history—though much of it had long been forgotten. What they were beginning would one day be recognized around the world, tied to a simple promise—“It tastes expensive… and is”—and sealed with a signature flourish of dripping red wax.

But that chapter did not begin the way most people think.

In those early days, as Bill walked the property—through weathered rickhouses and aging wooden beams—he came across something unexpected. Tucked quietly inside one of the warehouses were a handful of barrels still resting in the shadows. Barrels that had somehow been overlooked. Missed. Left behind when George Remus had swept through years earlier, claiming what he could.

These barrels weren’t new. They belonged to another time. Bill didn’t let them sit. He moved quickly—pulling them, bottling what remained inside, and releasing it under a different name: Star Hill Bourbon. A quiet nod to Samuels family farm and a subtle bridge between what had been… and what was coming. And if you ever happen to come across one of those rare bottles out in the wild, there’s a detail that stops you in your tracks.  

A name. A place. A past that, even then… refused to be forgotten.

For nearly a century, the Burks family had been separated from the craft that once defined them. Prohibition had done more than shut down a distillery—it had silenced a way of life.

After relocating to Louisville, George R. Burks entered retirement, while his son, George E. Burks, was just seventeen. Like many young men of his time, he found his footing while working for the local trolley car system owned by the Louisville Railway company, before eventually moving into insurance. Life pressed forward, steady and practical. In time, he started a family of his own and named his son George Richard Burks, after his father—passing down not just a name, but an unspoken connection to a past that had gone quiet.

That younger George Richard—known simply as Dick—followed the same path. Insurance became his trade, and eventually, he took over the family business when his father stepped aside. It was a good life. Stable. Predictable. But the past has a way of lingering.

Dick had grown up hearing the stories—tales passed down from his father and grandfather about the old distillery in Loretto, about barrels aging under Kentucky skies, about a time when the Burks name meant something in bourbon. They were stories he carried with him, sharing them with friends, coworkers, and golf buddies over the years.

But timing matters…as bourbon was old news.

Through the 1970s and 80s, bourbon itself had fallen out of favor. People weren’t talking about it. They certainly weren’t talking about a long-forgotten distillery tucked away in a valley in Loretto. The stories felt more like echoes than something alive. Still… every now and then, something would stir.

Dick would catch sight of a bottle of Maker’s Mark on a shelf, and his mind would drift…Back to the land…Back to the stories…Back to the life his ancestors must have lived—hands in the grain, eyes on the barrels, building something from the ground up.

Then the 80s gave way to the 90s. And bourbon came roaring back. Suddenly, those same friends and golf buddies began to see something in Dick’s story. They knew his connection to the old Burks Spring Distillery—the very ground now operating under a different name. What had once sounded like distant history began to feel… relevant.

Encouragement followed. “What if you brought it back?” At first, it was just an idea. In a conversation, his friends and cousin even offered to be investors. But there was something else—something tangible.

Dick knew that his father’s cousin, Gwen Browne, had kept an old bottle tucked away. Old Happy Hollow bourbon. The seal had been broken, but otherwise, it looked untouched by time. Years earlier, Dick had even taken that very bottle to an event at Maker’s Mark, showing it to Bill Samuels Jr, the son of the Makers founder. Bill Jr. knew the Burks family story and celebrated its beginnings.. The two had stood there, talking about the early days of the distillery, about Bill’s parents, about what once was.

But now, that bottle of Old Happy Hollow meant something more. It wasn’t just a relic. It was a possibility.

Dick reached out to Gwen’s daughter, Jane Cunningham- Dick’s second cousin, who now had the bottle in her possession. She had built something of a shrine around the bottle  in her home—protecting it, honoring it. When Dick explained what he was thinking, what he hoped to do, she didn’t hesitate. She was thrilled. The idea that the family could return to bourbon… it meant something. Jane even offered to be an investor.

Now the idea Dick, his friends, and cousin had started was building with excitement…but he had no idea where to begin. He started researching, digging into a world that had long passed his family by. That search led him to a group called Thoroughbred Associates—people who specialized in helping others get into the distilling business. After hearing Dick’s story, they gave him a direction.

Take the bottle of Old Happy Hollow to Ferm Solutions, a company that specializes in fermentation and yeast. If anyone could unlock its secrets, it would be them.

They told him they could analyze it—pull it apart, identify the mash bill, determine the proof. But there was a catch. Replication of the bourbon wouldn’t be perfect. The yeast his grandfather used was lost to time. Still… it was a start.

Dick carried that bottle to Danville and placed it in the hands of Pat Heist. They tasted a small amount and it was good, real good. A small sample was taken by Pat and his team. It was  carefully studied. Broken down. And then, piece by piece… the past began to speak. 60% corn. 25% rye. 15% barley. Bottled at exactly 100 proof. For the first time in generations, the Burks recipe had a voice again.

Now came the next challenge—the brand. Find out who owned the “Old Happy Hollow” label that was sold off when the Burks Springs Distillery closed.

Dick set out to track down the Old Happy Hollow name, but quickly realized what came with it—layers of ownership, complications, and questions that could pull him away from what this really was. Because this was never about reclaiming a label. It was about reclaiming a legacy.

So instead of chasing a name that no longer belonged to his family, Dick turned his attention to something that always had. A name that had never been sold… never been claimed… a name rooted in the land, the water, and the place where it all began.

And in that moment, the choice became clear. Burks Spring

His next hurdle was production. Opening a distillery was out of reach—millions of dollars of equipment and years of work. So Dick began reaching out, looking for someone willing to produce the bourbon under contract. He spoke with larger operations who were known to make bourbon for others (sourcing if you will), places like Heaven Hill and Bardstown Bourbon Company. But the scale of production didn’t match. The big name distilleries needed lots of volume. Dick just wanted to make something meaningful. Something real. 

So Dick was back to square one. But then he found a small, family-owned distillery in Shelbyville—Jeptha Creed Distillery. They listened. They understood. And they… said yes. They agreed to make a run of bourbon for Dick and his group.

From there, the work truly began. Licensing. Label selection.. Bottle design. Approvals. Endless details, each one another barrier. More than once, Dick thought that he might not ever get to carry out his idea. Many nights, he thought that maybe it was just too big a task for a small group and they may need to walk away. But he didn’t.

Because long before him, a man named Charles Burks had stood in a quiet valley and decided to go home to Maryland and get his family. Bring them to this frontier land and start again.  He had faced numerous obstacles and persevered. 

So Dick pressed on. He matched the mash bill to his grandfather’s. Designed a label that echoed the original Burks Spring bottle. Searched through hundreds of bottle shapes until he found one that resembled the “Old Happy Hollow” bottle. The bottle felt right—familiar, almost like it had been waiting.

For three years, Jeptha Creed Distillery produced Burks Spring Bourbon. Then came COVID. Production stopped. Priorities shifted. And just like that, Dick lost his distilling partner.

Once again, he found himself at the beginning. But the story he was writing wasn’t done with him yet. Maybe the spirit of his ancestors was pushing him further, giving him the strength to continue.

It was at this moment that he discovered Kentucky Artisan Distillery, a small operation just outside Louisville in Oldham County KY. They listened as Dick told his story—and they agreed to carry it forward. Production began, barrels were moved from Jeptha Creed to KY Artisan. 

And finally, in early 2024, the first barrels were ready. The day came quietly. After the first barrels were dumped and bottled, Dick loaded three cases into his car and drove home. No crowd. No celebration. Just the road, the boxes, and years of effort sitting beside him. He carried the cases inside, set them down, and pulled out a single bottle and placed it on the counter.

There it was. Eight years of work. Of Research. Endless Paperwork. Setbacks at many turns. Long conversations. The trip to Ferm Solutions. The uncertainty of the pandemic. And the one thing that all bourbon requires…patience… as the whiskey needed time to age in KY’s climate.

All of it… standing there in a single bottle. He stared at it, the weight of it settling in. A hobby that became something more.

Today, Burks Spring Bourbon can be found all across Kentucky, resting on shelves in local shops and at Kentucky Artisan Distillery, where Dick’s barrels continue to age—47 of them still quietly breathing in the rise and fall of Kentucky seasons.

At 78 years old, Dick laughs when asked about the possibility of producing more.. “I’ll be 84 or 85 when the next ones are ready.” Maybe there will be more. Maybe not. But that’s not really the point Dick says. He did not start the process to become a distiller.

Because this was never just about building a brand. It was about finishing something that had been left unfinished, something that Prohibition had taken away from his family

I asked Dick if he had ever thought about what his grandfather, his namesake, might say… or even his great-great-great grandfather, Charles—the man who first stood in that valley with a dream..

He paused as we sat there. His face began to light up… his mind and eyes drifting back to the memory of a special day. 

He said in the days after the bourbon was released, he went to the gravesites of his father and grandfather. He stood there quietly. Letting the moment settle in as he looked down at those names… and he thought about the journey of 8 years. 

Closing his eyes…he could almost see it. But more importantly he could feel it inside.  There was a growing sense of pride building on the inside.

Then a knowing smile spread across his face. While standing there, the whispers of the leaves through the trees were bringing the words from his grandfather—You did it Dick, you brought the Burk’s name home.

What once began as a hobby–something fun to do–has now grown into something far greater…a bridge between generations, reconnecting a family to its past and resurrecting one of the original Kentucky bourbon whiskeys 

Burks Springs Bourbon….now a living part of Kentucky bourbon once again.

Sources:

1) The Story of Burks Spring Bourbon  by burksspringbourbon.com/history

2) 2 Centuries Later, Great, Great, Grandson of Charles Burks of Burks Spring Distillery Launches "Burks Spring Bourbon".    Distillery Blog.  March 21, 2024

3) The Quest to Make a Great Great Great Bourbon.  by Bobbie Curd, July 23, 2024  via the Oldham Era

4) Interview with Dick Burks