A little, tin cup
Yesterday, the family who had once owned this farm came by for a visit. It was a wonderful experience to actually meet and talk with the mother and four siblings who had once resided here. Knowing a bit more of the history of the property and the people who grew up and worked this farm has made it so much more real and meaningful. I have always wondered how the milkhouse looked when it was in full, operational mode before I came along and moved myself and art work in to the space. And there I was yesterday, standing in the milkhouse with the very people who knew the answer to that very question. I’m not sure, but my mouth might have been hanging open. One milkhouse story that the youngest daughter related to me was about how her father would pull down a little, tin cup hanging above the milk tank, fill it with fresh milk that she would then gulp down with great pleasure. The tin cup would then be rinsed and rehung till the next fresh-milk gulp. I told her that I would hang a tin cup in the milkhouse in honor of that memory. As it turns out, I had just bought a tin cup the day before with the intention of possibly putting it in the milkhouse. After that story, I knew then that’s exactly where it should go. I thought about hanging it, but since I have some Lavender and Dianthus still kicking it up in the garden, I thought I’d let the little, tin cup have its milkhouse debut with a bit of floral flair:
I hope for the opportunity to hear more stories from the farm’s past, and feel so grateful for the stories that I heard yesterday, and for the family that told them to me.