The Milk Can

Sometimes I hesitate to mention anything that needs to be fixed around the house.
I hesitate, because my husband acts on the twenty-four hour rule.
Nothing can sit undone or broken for more than twenty-four hours.
I ask and he fixes it.

That is a huge blessing.
He will literally drop what he is doing to do whatever needs to be done.
I do not take him for granted.
I truly appreciate his care.

I happened to mention the milk can.
It is an old galvanized milk can I purchased from a local dairy many years ago.
I painted it twice through the years.
It just needed some attention.

My husband went to work.
I came home from running errands to see that his truck was in the driveway.
It is usually in the garage.
When I asked him about it, he told me that he was going to work on the milk can for me.

We are in the middle of a heat wave for the next few days.
There he was outside on the driveway with the milk can on a portable work table.
I heard his sander with the steel wool head whirring as he worked to remove the old paint.
I went outside to check on him and came back in to get sunscreen.

I know him; sunscreen was not on his to-do list as he refinished the milk can.
I sprayed some on his neck and arms and he was grateful.
There were blue paint chips on the driveway.
I could see myself in the milk can that was now stripped of paint.

The name of the dairy is on the side of the milk can.
Without the two coats of old paint, the raised letters were visible.
In a few hours, he had all the paint stripped from the surface.
He primed it with black primer and I loved the way it looked.

He still has a finish coat and a clear polyurethane coat to apply.
The milk can is vintage, nostalgic, and a remnant of yesterday.
We had a milk man deliver milk to us when our children were young.
We used to go through twelve gallons of milk each week, and easily drank a gallon at one meal.

I remember the milk man coming in his truck and driving down the driveway
We had a metal box with a lid that sat near our house.
He would take the finished glass bottles and replace them with new bottles of milk.
My children loved to see him come; they loved the cold milk he delivered.

It was an end of an era when we stopped milk delivery.
It was an end of an era when the dairy, with its ice cream store, closed.
Now gallons of milk were purchased at the grocery store or convenience store.
They knew our family at the stores because we would buy four gallons of milk at a time.

But, I still have my milk can.
I still have something that means more to me than simple country decor.
Gone are the days of the milk can and the milk man delivering milk.
I miss them.

Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. (Jeremiah 6:16)

I may be a bit wistful about the way things used to be.
They were simpler times.
There was personal service with people you knew and talked to face to face.
There was a sense of coming full circle: knowing our milk came from the farm to our table.

Oh, but convenience, one might say.
At what cost?
We can buy our milk quickly in recyclable jugs.
But we will never have the name of a grocery store pressed on the side of a vintage milk can.

Old things are treasures.
They may seem like they are from ancient paths, but they are valuable.
Not a monetary value, rather valuable to our spirit.
The ancient paths give us a sense of connectivity to the past.

In our disposable society, we want to replace rather than repair.
We toss aside rather than cherish.
There are things worth holding onto.
There is a good way in which to walk.

I will see my milk can each time I go out my laundry room door to the outside.
I will remember.

2 responses to “The Milk Can”

1. It feels good to remember (I have a Johanna Farms milk bottle in my kitchen. It was our local dairy and both my sister and I worked there) And how blessed you are Gina…not many wives could write about a 24 hour rule!

   Reply

   • Sherie, I’m glad the Whisper brought back wonderful memories of a simpler time. It’s wonderful that you have that bit of nostalgia in your kitchen. Yes, my husband’s 24 hour rule is a blessing that I do not take for granted.
     Gina

     Reply