the swan-like necks shaped as the fill was
completed; hesitant to spoil the design.
A half-minute, no more, passes before my
thoughts turn to butter. Butter as it was made
by my mother. What she went through...
First, milking the cows, separating the
cream, turning, turning, turning the handle
of the Dazey Churn, looking for the first
Hint the butter was beginning to form.
Butter I grew up on before leaving home
Learning "butter isn't good for you".
Choosing, then preferring margarine
over Mom's home churned butter with
the sometimes off-putting taste
When the cows had eaten some weed
or other and the taste came through in
the butter.
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