got milk?

As I related before, my grandfather had a dairy farm.…we on the other hand, had a cow. A single milk cow. We called her "Bossy" [and every milk cow we owned thereafter.]

My grandfather had the luxury of having electric milking machines. We milked ours the old fashion way…hands on. And whether you have several cows or just one, they all need to be milked twice a day — morning and night. Our cow produced 3/4 to one gallon of milk each time she was milked.

I know (if you’re like my kids) many of you think that milk comes in a carton that you get at the store. [When Bird was young I asked her that question and that was her answer.] End of story. And for some that is true. They have no clue as to where milk comes from. I, on the other hand, got my milk from the cow—no middleman was involved. Growing up there were none of those mamby-pamby multiple milk choices of 1%, 2%, skim, etc. There was only one choice at my house: 100% udderly delicious whole milk—with cream or without.

My dad was an “artist” at milking the cow. It seemed as though he could finish the job in 5 minutes flat. He used to entertain the neighbor kids by asking if they were thirsty. He’d tell them to open up their mouths, then proceed to squirt a stream of milk 15 or 20 feet at them. The neighbor kids were fascinated with the process. He would ask them if they wanted to help. He would hand them the cow’s tail and tell them to start pumping. The faster they would pump, the faster the milk would come out. Other times he would tell them if they pumped the cow’s tail then chocolate milk would come out. Never did get that one to work.

From time to time, whenever my dad was working out of town, the chore of milking the cow “fell into my hands” [no pun intended].

At age 10-11, your knee/leg muscles aren’t fully developed and it is very difficult to hold up the milk pail off of the ground between your knees as you’re concentrating on pulling at the “handles” on the udder. [hey, I’m trying to keep this a family oriented article.] First the closest ones, then the furthest, then the closest, and finish up with the furthest.

Often times, I would get tired and set the partially full bucket on the ground and try to finish up fast. A few times the cow would swish her tail and dried chunks of “foreign organic matter” would fall into the pail. I’d hurry and reach in and get it out as best as I could and figured “what you can’t see, can’t hurt you” with the rest.


When I was finished, I would take the warm fresh milk into the house and run it through a separator. It had a filter, two spigots, and a handle. You would pour the milk into a bowl at the top and as you cranked the handle (55 turns per minute) the centrifugal force would separate the milk from the cream.

Ah milk, it does a body good…and a little dried foreign organic matter from time to time didn’t hurt either.