Yesterday, while we were out picking strawberries, I heard Bo's voice from further down the field."You know what I think?" he asked.
"What do you think?" I asked back.
"I think we need to make a trip to Burt's tonight."
What a perfect idea. Burt is a local certified organic dairy farmer who welcomes us to come anytime we want to fill our containers with fresh, whole, raw organic milk. No homogenization. No pasteurization. Just pure milky goodness.
After the strawberries were picked, loaded into our Jeep, and transported back to our kitchen island, we headed off to Burt's farm. Once we made our way through the woods, along the winding lane and to Burt's milkhouse, we could hear the sound of his milking equipment chug-chug-chugging away. Yes! We arrived just in time to see a milking, and to get ultra-fresh milk for our strawberry treat!
While Bo filled eight gallon containers from the stainless steel milk cooler, I talked with Burt, a sharp man who's in his seventies but looks to be about fifty, except for his snow-white hair. His beautiful complexion and muscular arms tell the story of years of healthy living and hard farm work.The Baby, Sweetheart and I peeked our heads into the milking parlor. That's where Burt's sons and daughter line up all of those beautiful Jersey cows for their evening grain and udder relief.
"Hey, I saw your kids' pictures in the paper last Sunday," one of Burt's sons calls up from the lower level of the parlor. "Did they have fun at the Art Walk?"
I tell him that they did, ask him how he's been, and my hands ache to get in there and milk with them. I've done it before--stood here as part of Burt's milking staff--but tonight we have other things to do. Instead, we leave a donation on the milk cooler, thank Burt and his family, and head for home.
When Bo made his appearance in the kitchen this morning, I was tearing spinach for salad. He'd made his preferences known for this Father's Day meal: steak on the grill. My contributions were a spinach salad, steamed broccoli, wild rice and iced tea from the garden; peppermint, spearmint, lemon balm and clover.
Bo's contribution was to skim the cream off the top of the now-cooled milk and put it into containers, start the grill and get the hand-crank ice cream maker ready for production.
So, with a simple recipe of cream, sugar and fresh strawberries along with some ice, rock salt and elbow grease, we readied our delicious dessert. Homemade strawberry ice cream!
We let the ice cream rest in the freezer to harden while we ate our meal together and talked about Sweetheart's latest loose tooth. I recalled the story of Bard's first loose tooth, how she begged me to pull it, how I tied the tooth to a string and tied the string to a door, slammed the door and sent Bard screaming from one end of the house to the other, the tooth still hanging on stubbornly. Then I told the story of Houdin's early loose teeth, how he came to Bo and I to excitedly show us a tooth that was barely wiggling in the gums.
"Yep. That'll come out in a week or so," I told him. "Now, it's bedtime, so off you go!"
A half-hour later, Houdin appeared before us with a bloody mouth and the tooth in his hand. I was amazed that my son would endure that kind of pain to remove a tooth! But the amazement didn't stop there.
"I think this one's loose, too!" He announced, jutting out his jaw for me to observe.
"No, I don't think it is, Son. Back to bed, okay?"
An hour later... you guessed it. ANOTHER tooth and a bloodier mouth! After that, he was commanded not to pull out any more of his teeth for the night!
Now the meal is over, the remaining ice cream is in the freezer, and the males of the family are working on the treehouse. I'm putting off kitchen cleanup long enough to jot down these thoughts of our lunch together on this Father's Day.
It was a meal fit for a dad. :-)
It was a meal fit for a dad. :-)
Now, an ode to the cow. Thanks, cows, for giving us the yummy milk and providing our lunch of steak and hamburgers.
The Cow
by Robert Louis Stevenson
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers
I don't think I'll seek out a poem about a cow giving its meat just now. :-)
Happy Father's Day!
