Milk House Memories
Memories of the milk house at our family farm surfaced during a conversation with my nephew. He is building an office in the same approximate location as the milkhouse once stood so I suggested he see if any relics still exist from the original building which he could use in the new space as a reminder of old times. This is the origin of today’s column.
Most of my memories of barn-life happened during the winter. Winter meant cold, the milk house meant warmth. A cow’s milk is about 101 degrees and must be cooled quickly to be safely stored for later consumption. The milk at our farm was dumped into a mobile station and was then vacuumed through a hose back to the milkhouse into a bulk tank.
The bulk tank had a double wall with cooling tubes in between the walls. These tubes carried heat to a radiator where the heat was blown off by two fans. The heat blew outside through a window in the summer however a fair amount of this same heat was kept inside during the winter. It was the kind of heat that just soaked into your bones. You could experience a fifty degree or better change of temperature just by walking from the silage room to the milk house.
I suggested to my nephew that he might want to end his day in his new office by singing, “Mockingbird Hill.” That is how my dad finished his day of milking. During summer evenings all milk house windows would be open and you could hear him washing the cow milkers and cleaning the building’s interior. He would sing a variety of songs, however I distinctly remember these lyrics, “traa-laa-laa, twiddle-dee-dee-ee there’s peace and good will, to wake up every morning on Mockingbird Hill.”
The milk house was kind of a gathering place around Viking as we lived less than a mile from town. We sold milk back then and folks would come with one gallon pickle jars to fill with milk for use at home. I think we had an old ice cream bucket with a hole cut on top as a payment box. Customers had to wait until milking was done as dispensing milk would release the vacuum we needed to milk the cows.
This transaction was a natural social occasion and numerous people have shared memories with me about buying milk at our farm. I consider some of my memories odd as they seem so insignificant; some of these memories originated in the milk house. All of the reports from the Dairy Herd Improvement Association, along with artificial insemination records, were kept in a wall-mounted records box. This flat box included a door which folded out into a table. I always wanted one for myself and eventually built an industrialstrength version which is mounted in my shop.
A second odd memory would be the double doored, pass-through box used by the bulk truck driver to empty the tank. The exterior door was like a miniature (8”x8”?) door while the interior was a metal door with a port that fit the milk hose perfectly. It allowed the hose to pass through and kept the wind or insects outdoors.
The old milk house is gone, however my memories keep it as real as it ever was when it stood on our farm. The importance of those memories is no mystery to me however I am constantly surprised at how I never realize those memories are being created at the time I am actually living the memory. It makes me wish I had listened more carefully to dad singing “Mockingbird Hill.”
