Growing up on a farm in the midwest in the 50s, the cold weather of the past week brought back memories.
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I remember being very young and rising before dawn to do the milking before school. My dad and I would get up and dress, it would sometimes be below zero, since the fire in the furnace had long gone out, the sink drain in the kitchen would be frozen. We would pour hot water that had been heated on the stove down the drain to thaw it out.
I remember putting my cold feet into cold boots and walking out into the crisp early morning air, it was beautiful with the moon lite glistening off the new fallen snow.
As we entered the milk house, the stove would be fired up as the milkers would often freeze up and they would need to be thawed out over the stove.
The milking never went smoothly during these times, the cows would be cantankerous, and the cold would make the machinery freeze up and break down, doors wouldn’t open or close because snow and ice had frozen them shut.
Soon the milking would be finished and we would retreat to the house to a hot breakfast prepared by mom!
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Remembering a simpler time, a time when neighbor knew neighbor and people helped each other.I grew up in the 50’s on a small dairy farm in southeastern Indiana.
Financially, times were hard , my dad and mom had purchased an extremely impoverished farm when I was three years old. We ,along with my brother , who came along later, spent the next several years restoring it to a more productive state.