MILK CANS AND LIMOUSINES
Our Grandmother drove a funeral home limousine for a family car. It’s a good thing too, because she used to come to our house about every other day and load up as many of us kids up as possible to go down to the farm to get milk, eggs, and vegetables. We’d usually fight over who got to sit on the jump seats. It was the coolest car ever.
Munnie had what’s known as a lead foot, even though she had to drive with the seat all the way forward; and then probably needed a couple of pillows to reach the accelerator. If she saw a car in front of her, she would speed up until she passed it. Sometimes she would see someone ahead of her going way too slow and miss her turn off to the farm driveway.
The farm was just below us on Jacksboro Highway. Munnie would have to drive down Central Avenue a block, turn right, and then turn right on Northside Drive to Jacksboro Highway, and turn right. A little ways down, we’d turn left down a very obscure road. It was very steep, and my heart would just pound every time we’d head down that hill. Munnie wasn’t afraid at all. I was always amazed at how we always made it back up the hill.
Later, when we were older, we’d just walk down the hillside and cross the highway to the farm. The caretakers were Bob and Marie Fagan, an old married couple, who were the nicest people I ever did meet. Bob would let us help milk the cows, until Munnie rounded us up. I got the feeling she didn’t want us to bother Bob while he milked the cows. He didn’t like us to climb up in the barn hayloft, because he said there were rats up there. Marie would let us help her collect the eggs, and I was a little afraid of the hens if they were still sitting on their nest. While we were busy snooping around, Munnie and Marie would skim the cream off the off the top of the milk to make butter.
There was a pecan orchard on the farm and a “U” shaped fishing pond that Grandad used to call a tank. I didn’t think it looked at all like a tank. There was also a mule named Judy, and pigs and turkeys and a couple of attack geese. Those geese were really mean, and would chase us across the yard. Grandad said that turkeys are stupid because they’ll look straight up when it rains and just strangle them selves with the rain.
Munnie would gather us all back up and load us into the limousine to take us home with the milk, eggs and vegetables. She’d stand the big cans (usually two of them) on the floor in the back. She’d drop us off at home, and leave half of the milk and eggs at our house. She’d take the other can to Aunt Ollie, just a couple of blocks away. Sometimes she’d give Joanie and Anne and me a jar filled with fresh cream to shake up to make butter. Other times, she hand us a sack of purple hull peas and tell us to go out on the front porch and shell them. She firmly believed that children should always have something to do. “Heaven is for perfect people! Jesus is in Heaven! I’m still here and you’re still here. So, maybe there’s something we should be working on!”
The farm was just below us on Jacksboro Highway. Munnie would have to drive down Central Avenue a block, turn right, and then turn right on Northside Drive to Jacksboro Highway, and turn right. A little ways down, we’d turn left down a very obscure road. It was very steep, and my heart would just pound every time we’d head down that hill. Munnie wasn’t afraid at all. I was always amazed at how we always made it back up the hill.
Later, when we were older, we’d just walk down the hillside and cross the highway to the farm. The caretakers were Bob and Marie Fagan, an old married couple, who were the nicest people I ever did meet. Bob would let us help milk the cows, until Munnie rounded us up. I got the feeling she didn’t want us to bother Bob while he milked the cows. He didn’t like us to climb up in the barn hayloft, because he said there were rats up there. Marie would let us help her collect the eggs, and I was a little afraid of the hens if they were still sitting on their nest. While we were busy snooping around, Munnie and Marie would skim the cream off the off the top of the milk to make butter.
There was a pecan orchard on the farm and a “U” shaped fishing pond that Grandad used to call a tank. I didn’t think it looked at all like a tank. There was also a mule named Judy, and pigs and turkeys and a couple of attack geese. Those geese were really mean, and would chase us across the yard. Grandad said that turkeys are stupid because they’ll look straight up when it rains and just strangle them selves with the rain.
Munnie would gather us all back up and load us into the limousine to take us home with the milk, eggs and vegetables. She’d stand the big cans (usually two of them) on the floor in the back. She’d drop us off at home, and leave half of the milk and eggs at our house. She’d take the other can to Aunt Ollie, just a couple of blocks away. Sometimes she’d give Joanie and Anne and me a jar filled with fresh cream to shake up to make butter. Other times, she hand us a sack of purple hull peas and tell us to go out on the front porch and shell them. She firmly believed that children should always have something to do. “Heaven is for perfect people! Jesus is in Heaven! I’m still here and you’re still here. So, maybe there’s something we should be working on!”
1 comment:
I love this. I only remember going to the farm a few times after you girls were in school. But the ride down that steep gravel hill was terrifying. I wonder if Munnie enjoyed seeing us experience the thrill of it. Remember the electric jars with the big wooden beaters in the kitchen at home that churned the milk? Munnie was such a wonderful gift in our lives and still is to me.
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