This week I stopped by the farm during milking time to get some information on a few 4-H calves. All the girls willingly roamed the barnyard, checking out the calves and bugging their cousins who were milking. But I will not lie, when Lilly put those blue latex gloves on and asked, “Can I stay and help Cole finish milking the cows?” a little sense of pride welled up in me. “Or course, you can!”
I grew up on this farm. I started consistently helping my grandfather milk cows when I was in the 5th grade. My grandfather was a proud man. He was also a hard man. But I was his favorite. (I mean, my brother Jim was his most favorite. but for some strange reason, I was right up there.). I remember he bought me a scrapper (yes, a scrapper scrapes the manure from behind the cows) that was just my size and he carved my name on it. He sure knew how to make a girl feel special!
We didn’t talk much. I was a pretty shy kid. But I enjoyed the quiet time spent with him. You can’t really hurry the milking; so there was no rush, just the peaceful sounds of the milkers.
After my grandfather died, I continued to milk cows. I remember in the old barn, the second half of the row I milked would meet with my dad’s row. He would sing country songs with different lyrics. He would tell stories. He talked more than Gramps. He also tried to teach me to dance while we waited. I really wish I actually learned how to dance (now I just dance with M&M in the kitchen and think of him).
Lilly anticipates helping her cousin milk cows any chance she can get. I hope she really enjoys it. I hope she learns how to slow down and enjoy a job for what it is. I hope she creates memories and relationships with the people on the farm. It makes me happy to think she is experiencing a little slice of my childhood.
