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Granny milked the cows
along side of her man,
eight or more each day and night
to lend a helping hand
I’ve seen her milk so many times
astride three-legged stools,
head leaned against a Guernsey cow,
yet she was no one’s fool
She used to name the critters
and treated them like kids,
petted, soothed, and curried
the same as Grandpa did
Granny pulled her weight
and did the work of ten,
there was no question ‘bout it
when measured next to men
You see it was their livelihood,
they worked a humble dairy,
pulling teats, cleaning stalls,
and milk cans they would carry
There were no days to squander,
their life was not their own,
no sick days, fun, nor leisure,
or time to whine and moan
Were no machines in those days
to make the work go fast,
they did it all by hand, you know,
like kinfolk in the past
The weather made no difference,
in blizzard, rain, or hail,
they headed for the old barn
each carrying a pail
Gramps would walk by Granny
not saying much it seemed,
convinced the life he’d given her
was not what she had dreamed
Forty years of hard work,
cooking, mending clothes,
having kids, and milking
was not great, he supposed
But I don’t think it mattered
to Granny and her kind,
they went where their men led them
and gave it little mind
She left her mark upon us,
we watched as kids and learned,
and I can’t thank her near enough
for what all I discerned
My thoughts are often with her,
an example to us all,
to not complain, just do the work,
each task both large an’ small…
(dedicated to my grandma Dicus)
Copyright Tamara Hillman
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