They say that if you look at a photo long enough you
Can sense the feelings of the people at that juncture of their life.
Perhaps that’s true to some extent. As I looked back in time at a particular photo my neighbor took of my sisters and me, The more I looked, the more the feelings of that day rushed in on me.
As the habit was, my mother traded her baked goods with our neighbor, who had a small farm. They had milk cows and chickens, so we got our fresh milk and eggs in exchange for my momma’s delicious rolls.
My brothers and sisters took turns pulling the old red wagon down the hill about a quarter of a mile to collect our goods. On this particular day, my younger sister Robin who was nine, and my three-year-old baby sister, Dodie Jane, and myself, eleven at this time, were the ones sent down the hill.
I was happy that day. The old neighbor woman loved me as if I were her own child. I knew she took the picture because I was smiling at her from ear to ear. Not able to have children, she loved some of my mamas. I knew I was special to her. Even my Mama said I was her favorite. The look on my sister Robin’s face is one of annoyance. Dodie’s face registered shyness. Robin clung to her gallon of milk with both hands. I hold mine in the crook of one arm while keeping a protective arm around three-year-old Dodie.
It is those ordinary days when a moment in time stopped for that brief few seconds to record a memory of a sunny afternoon down a hilly country road to carry out a mundane task that meant so much to my mother and assured us more baked goods and a cold fresh glass of milk would be the result.
I often think back to this picture when I run out of milk and have to visit the store. It seems more of a chore than anything else. Nothing like the adventures of my youth when going for milk was exciting and fun. It is a country thing.
MILK RUN
The milk run
So much fun
Racing with the wagon
Dogs beside us, tails wagging
Baby sister inside
Giggling about her ride
Mama’s fresh rolls are intact
The best in the country, that’s a fact
The trade for eggs and milk
To my Mama, precious as fine silk
A memory from the past
The photograph made it last
Headed back up the hill
Children’s bellies for Mama to fill
