One summer evening Daddy announced that it was time that I learn how to milk the cow. It always looked easy when ever I watched Mom or Daddy milk our little Jersey and I looked forward to being able to milk her on my own.
I brought the cow in from her pasture and carefully measured her usual amount of grain into her little trough. After washing her udder with warm soapy water I was ready to start milking. I set the pail on the floor and held it with my knees to keep it from tipping over if Pansy should happen to bump it. Daddy showed me the correct way to squeeze so that a nice stream of milk shot into the pail. I tried it but the stream of milk I got wasn't very impressive. I kept on trying. The pail gradually filled up, but my arms ached so badly I could hardly keep on.
Pansy had finished eating her grain and was getting impatient to go back out to her pasture. Daddy finally offered to finish milking her and I was happy to hand the pail and milk stool over to him. The next evening I tried again, and Daddy again had to finish milking her.
After several weeks with Daddy always finishing the milking I finally succeeded in doing it by myself. I was so happy about that, that after I had given the cats their bowlful of fresh milk I sent the pail into the house with one of my brothers while I borrowed a pocket knife from John and climbing up to a beam I carefully carved the words, "I milked Pansy all by myself." I then added the date in hopes that someday once I was old I could look at it and be reminded of the night I reached this specific milestone.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Have you ever gone back to see the inscription?
ReplyDeleteYou brought back some memories with this story.
I once carved my name into the bark of a tree. I used to think that's such a romantic display of affection when a boy and girl carved their initials inside a heart onto a tree, so when I fell into a major crush I simply had to make it permanent. I wish I could go back and remove the scar I inflicted on that poor tree. The boy I was so smitten with married someone else, and my hubby and I have been happily married for 43 years now, but somewhere in a little town in New England there's a tree bearing my name plus the name of my school girl crush. The only good thing I can think about regarding this, is, at least it wasn't a tattoo. Shudder.
No, I have never gone back to see those words again. I think of it every time I pass that barn, but so far haven't found the nerve to stop and ask the current owners if I can have a look.
DeleteWow! I can comment! lol
ReplyDeleteYay! I'm glad you can comment.
DeleteI enjoyed hearing about how you learned to milk Pansy...and that you "recorded" it so that you could see the words and be reminded of the learning process and your achievment.
ReplyDeleteI was raised on a dairy farm and my "job" was to bring in the cows from the pasture. I don't remember back far enough to the time the cows were milked by hand, but I know at one time they must have been because I remember when the new barn was built and they started using the electric milkers.
Bringing cows in from pasture an a lovely day was always a pleasant task.
DeleteThis is such a lovely and interesting blog. I had to pull myself away from reading it to get on with my day. I am looking forward to visiting again soon.
ReplyDeleteShirley
I'm glad you enjoyed my blog and hope your future visits will be enjoyable as well.
DeleteI carved my name into a tree i the yard when my parents told me we were moving. I climbed up to my perch, carved and we left. All these years later, my tree is still there!
ReplyDeleteThat's great that the tree is still there! Have you ever gone back to see your name?
DeleteThis was a sweet story. Glad you kept trying and persisted until you were able to do it. Must have felt like an accomplishment to finish the task.
ReplyDelete