The following is a recollection from the creator: "Milking. Of all the winter chores, the morning milking was the most trying. We rose early on the cold mornings to milk the cows. Putting on long underwear and overalls, we left the house and walked in the darkness through snowdrifts to the barn. The cows would get up from their stalls, their breath filling the air. Cats, lazy after the night’s sleep, left their beds under the straw to welcome us. The great Holstein bull in the heavily barred stall at the end of the barn bellowed a morning greeting. Ralph and I strapped the milking machines to the first two cows, placed the cold milk cups on their four teats, turned on the valve above the stanchion, and the milking began for another morning.

The small black radio was tuned to WLS, bringing news and music from Chicago and breaking the sounds of the animals and the milking machines. On the mornings when the electricity had gone out because of a storm, we milked the cows using pressure produced by the gasoline-powered generator. If the engine would not start, we were forced to milk the entire herd by hand. We would sit on wooden stools with our heads against the bodies of the cows and do the milking."

Most of the text is from Richard Quinney, “A Place Called Home,” Tales From the Middle Border. Madison, WI: Borderland Books, 2007, pp. 1-38 (Originally published in the Wisconsin Magazine of History, 67 (Spring 1984), pp. 163-184.