Making Butter

I have few memories that include my older sisters still living at home. That age gap, combined with whatever, has removed much of my childhood from the grey cells, but mainly--it's all about that 13 year gap. I often hope the two of them will sit down and put some of their favorite, brightest, moments on paper to share. I'm curious as to what the family constellation was like when they were small and the changes they experienced along the way.

I'm sure I've shared one of those moments (when I was either dust in the wind or too small to remember), when my oldest Sis fell onto the shards of the gallon jar and the loose gravel that caused the fall, as she watched the day's worth of milk, flowing down the road. It's a bit of family lore that usually brings a memory bubbling up: all seven of us, sitting around the living room, watching television and making butter.

Those daily gallon jars of milk, were freshly squeezed, from one of G'ma and G'pa Curly's cows, before being transported by adolescent, down the short hill from their small farm. Mom (?) would scoop off the cream, before adding milk to all those bowls of oatmeal. I don't know if it was the usual routine, but I can remember all seven of us, sitting around the living room, watching television, passing that jar of cream around, agitating it into butter. Golden butter and golden moment. Love, K