Our good neighbor and friend who lives on the other side of the canal shared a page he had written  ( It looks like something he had done maybe for one of those things they do where you can learn about peoples different occupations) all about when he used to haul milk.  It was a great read and sure got the memories flowing and took me back to the 60's when I would get to go (on very special occasions...probably when mum needed a babysitter) with daddy on his milk route.
Daddy would boost me up into the big seat...(that truck seemed enormous to me back then) and I would ride along quietly...taking in everything around me.
First there was just the inside of the truck...I can still remember the smell...a combination of oil, (seems like he was always working on the truck, keeping it in good shape) leather, (probably from the big apron daddy wore to protect him from the wear and milk from the cans) and then a smell of farm...it wasn't bad ...I actually love the smell of a farm....a little like cows, milk and hay.
I can remember the inside of the cab seemed kind of magical to me...I was fascinated by all the gear shifts, clutches, and the huge steering wheel.  Once in a while, daddy would let me sit on his lap and pretend like I was driving.  I couldn't even budge that steering wheel...now that I think about it, it must have been a beast to drive without power steering.
We would leave at what seemed like the middle of the night,,and it was...he had to be there to pick up the milk at the farms out in Hyrum, Black Smith fork Canyon, Wellsville and Mt. Sterling super early in the morning, so he could get them to the plant on time.
We would pull into a farm and up close to the barn, there would be a row of cans waiting for him.  He would hop out of the truck and open the big side doors of the trailer.  Then he would go pick up one of the big milk cans and hoist it from his knee up into the deck of the trailer.  I didn't think much about the weight of each can at the time, but now as I hear Gary describe it, I have a whole new appreciation for daddy's strength.  He said in his story "The  farmers only fill their cans 3/4 full.  That's so the milk sloshes around in the can, not out of the can.  A full milk can is heavy.  An empty milk can weighs 35 or 40 pounds.  A gallon of milk weighs about 8 pounds.  You do the math:  7 1/2 gallons at 8 pounds per gallon, or so, plus 40 pounds of can, is about a hundred pounds.  Now, lift-throw 100 pounds to the deck of the truck, the better part of 48 inches from the ground...now, do ya understand why men who haul milk for a living really ought to be called 'Mister'?"
After the milk was loaded, he would leave that many empty clean cans for them to fill the next morning.
There was usually a wave to the farmer (or at some places, the owner would want to chat...much to daddy's dismay...he liked to visit with them, but some would go on and on, making him late at getting his route done)
I loved seeing all the farms...the cows, the barns, the chickens wandering and usually a dog or two that would come up and follow daddy around as he loaded the milk.
After we had been around to all the farms, we headed for the milk factory.  I think it was Pet milk at the time.  He would pull up to the plant and next to the big conveyor belts and daddy would load the full cans onto the moving belt...I love the way Gary describes this part...just the way I remember it...
"The milk haulers off-loaded their milk cans onto a mechanized conveyor that pushed/pulled the full cans up to the dumping platform where a man tipped a can over a fulcrum to upside down.  It's all leverage and can be done with one hand.  it also dumps the milk almost instantly...Better look alive, if ya want to get the weight and a sample (for Pappy's butter-fat test) , before I step on the  dump-lever.  The operator slid the empty can to the can washer and it came out the other end right-side up and wearing the same lid it came to town with, everything clean as a hounds tooth.
The clean can rolled down a roller conveyor that was ahead of and slightly below the mechanized conveyor.  Both conveyors together held all but the largest trucks full allotment of cans."
I was quite mesmerized watching the cans chug along until they disappeared into the building, then they would come out another opening a few minutes later...all clean and ready to refill.
After he was all finished, daddy would boost me down from the truck and we would walk into the little store there at the plant and daddy would buy me an ice cream.  His favorite treat was a snickers bar and a Pepsi. Then he'd boost me back up on the big seat and we'd head for home.
He would do this every single day....you couldn't miss a day....ever.  The cows make milk, it has to be picked up and delivered every day.  I don't think daddy ever missed...rain or shine...and lots of freezing cold days...when he was sick or on the holidays...even Christmas..we would get up so so early before he went on his route so we could all be together. I guess that's a farmers life.  Daddy never complained about it.  He is truly my hero.
On the way home, we always stopped at the post office to get ours, grandma Braeggers and Aunt Pat and Uncle Clyde's mail.  I loved going into the post office...just the tiny building there on main street next to the gas station, but it seemed magical.  I can still picture exactly what it looked like.  You walk in the door and there is a whole wall of little gold square doors with a little dial on them.  I loved watching daddy turn the knob just right, then left, then right again and then pop open the little door and pull out the mail. If there was something that wouldn't fit in the box, there would be a little note and we would  go through a door over to the left and talk to the post master (dang! I can't think of his name!) who would be sitting behind a big counter. Him and daddy would chat a bit, then we would head down the street to grandmas house.
I can sure picture her there in the kitchen with her apron on.  Her and grampa were pretty old when I was born so I don't have a lot of memories of them.  Grampa died when I was quite young but grandma lived well into her 90's.  I remember grampa bouncing me on his knee and rubbing his whiskers on my cheek...he kind of scared me. Grandma was kind and always had a molasses cookie for me out of her aunt Jemimah cookie jar
After we delivered the mail and visited with  grandma a bit, we walked the short path next door to see Pat and Clyde.  They always made everyone that came into their home feel pretty special.  I remember being timid around them with their handicaps, but they were both so  kind and comfortable and easy to be with, the uneasiness soon left and I loved to be there with them.
We would get home about noon and mum would have some lunch ready for us. Daddy would come in and get the chicken bucket and head for the coop.  I tagged along beside him...(I was kind of his shadow when I was a little girl...he probably got tired of me always under his feet) and he'd let me gather the eggs  I was a bit scared of the chickens so I would hang back as he scattered the goodies from the chicken bucket and some grain in the chicken run.  They would get so excited and flop around and squawk so I didn't want to get to close.  I liked carrying the basket of eggs  into the house though and would proudly report to mum how many they had laid as if I had done it myself.
Just a little memory that I have stored safely in my heart..it's kind of nice to take them out and look at them ...reminds me again of the blessing I've had of growing up in a home with good, loving, hard working parents. Sure do love and miss them.
ps...thanks to Gary for reminding me....