Oh the memories this post triggered.
Summers and weekends spent on my grandparents farm.
Waking up, the first thing was a trip to the out house, washing hands in the basin, and a farm breakfast, Eggs, ham, fresh bread, jellies, jams and more.
Milking the cows, pouring the milk through a filter, as you filled the milk can,.
Gathering the eggs, feeding the chickens, all without getting chased or pecked.
Pick produce and preserve by freezing or canning. Bake breads, pies and cakes.
Boiling water for laundry, in the old wash house, a wringer wash machine.
I still remember the first time I was allowed to turn the handle on the butter churn!
as it flowed around the paddles
in the large glass jar,
slowly become thicker,
as the butter began to form.
My young arms could not complete
My grandmother stepped in,
When it become too hard to turn,
Slowly I watch as butter appeared.
Thick and creamy.
Removing the paddles,
My Grandmother carefully scrapped
The completed butter into the butter dish.
The last of the scraping
She placed onto a slice of bread
and I tasted the first butter I had ever made.
I think I will make some homemade butter this week.