About Cows and Milking

The little brown house was located on a fairly good-sized lot, I suppose it was at least 100 feet by 100 feet, perhaps larger. Later on after a cow was acquired, the lot to the north was purchased, fenced in and this served as a summer pasture for the cow and also a yard for the chickens. Still later, probably in the 1940s, a band of lots to the west of the house lot, pasture and the neighbors to the south was purchased at a tax sale (i.e., the county taxes had not been paid and the lots were sold by the county to recover the taxes). One reason for this I believe was that the lot directly behind the house lot was infested with “quack” grass which kept invading my father’s garden.

These lots were lower in elevation and suffered from a drainage problem. On one occasion my uncle Carl either took it upon himself or perhaps my mother sort of asked him to ascertain the trouble with the drainage tile. At any rate my father on finding out what was going on invited him to leave. There was always sort of a simmering antipathy between the two men which had been exacerbated by my dad working for uncle Carl in the first years on the farm. Somehow or other I happened on the scene, perhaps I was back on vacation as I’m sure the incident happened after my parents moved back to the little brown house.

After this move to Gowrie my folks no longer had a cow. The pasture and the low-lying lots were planted in field corn — by then Vincent was farming and I think he did the plowing and planting though my dad went through the fields and did the weed control.

While I am on the subject of cows, I should mention that to the north of the property that my parents had, and extending in a large L-shaped area (the western side of the L extending south along the road at the west end of Gowrie) was what was known as the “Lindquist’s pasture.” This was used during the spring, summer and fall months as pasturage for the cows belonging to various Gowrie residents, who like my folks kept a cow for one reason or another. My dad used this pasture on occasion, perhaps before he had his own pasture.

The cows in the pasture varied in temperament, the most unlikable being one with homes belonging to a certain Moberg. This cow was involved in a confrontation with an elderly man, who as I recall was either seriously injured or died from the attack. When the cow that my dad had was “fresh” — i.e. had just had a calk so that her milk output was high, there was more milk than the family could use. The extra milk was sold to nearby neighbors, and I can recall carrying the milk in gallon tin pails (molasses and corn syrup cam originally in these pails) to the Sellestroms, the Braggs (?), and one other family whose name I cannot now recall. I can still see Mrs. Sellestrom carefully emptying the tin pail into her own containers, being particular to get the last drop of milk. The tin pail had a lip at the top so she had to shake the pail to get the last drops out.

Milk was also supplied to my grandfather Strand and aunt Hulda, who was keeping house for him. When we took the milk over to his house we followed a rout north to the Albert Blomgren residence, across their lot to the back of my grandfather’s chicken yard and thence to his house, being careful to close all the gates. The Albert Blomgrens were the people from whom my parents bought the little brown house — why they sold it and moved to an older home (which may not have had indoor plumbing of the toilet variety) I ha

The route to my grandfather’s could have taken a route south along the west side of the city park and thence north along the main street through the town. This route was proscribed by my mother however — I think she had an overly protective and restrictive desire to control the activities of her offspring at least at an early age. While there was a plenitude of milk when the cow was fresh, there was a dearth when the next calving was imminent. Then my parents bought milk from the local dairy and I can recall the array of glass quart bottles that were delivered morning and evening.

While we lived in Gowrie before the move to the farm, all the milking of the cow was done by my father. In the morning he would dress for his work at the bank, but put on a set of coveralls while he did the milking and other chores. He didn’t wear a suit to the bank, rather instead of a suit coat he would wear a dark blue sweater (button type) of a close-knitted navy blue fabric. It wasn’t until we were on the farm that my, and my brothers’ milking career began.

Prior to the move to the farm, I can recall only two instances when I was exposed to milking a cow. Once was when my father had one of his worst “sick headaches” and I tried my hand at milking our cow — not too successfully as I recall. The other was once when we visited the Anton Holmer family when Anton was farming my grandfather’s farm. This was on a Sunday and characteristically the visit extended from the noon meal through the afternoon and a lighter early supper. When our family left I stayed behind (to be brought into town later in the evening for some church function) and Arthur (my age) and I participated in the evening milking chores — again not too successfully on my part.

It was during one of out visits with the Holmers that I had my one and only horseback ride of my life. Arthur got out two his father’s work horses and we rode south along the road, about as far as my uncle Reuben’s farm and back. It was not a particularly enjoyable experience for me — it was certainly bareback and I suppose there was a bridle and reins but I have no remembrance of that.