How many people in our Kwik Trip-bag-a-bag-of-milk-while-pumping-gas world have a real live milk man anymore?
Forty years ago, my neighorhood had one. Every week he stealthily removed the empty glass bottles from a hinged-lid, insulated aluminum cube next to the garage door and replaced them with fresh, cold, full ones. It must be noted that it made the perfect tuffet on which to wait one's turn at four-square. I don't remember actually seeing him very often since, most days, of course, the children of Mary Lane were at school.
That silver box was like a magic hat, only instead of white rabbits or doves coming out of no where, it was fresh bottles of milk. And who could forget those bottles? They were square on the bottom, with "Higgin's Dairy" in rich, red script across the front. They were so thick and so heavy it took two hands and a good grip to hold one. That waxed paper lid with the perfectly pleated edge was pretty swell, too.
In those days, milk and dairy products were an everyday delicacy and we didn't even know it. Cholesterol? No such thing! Margarine? Disgusting! Skim? It used to just be a verb. Milk and butter were home delivered by the milkman, who wore crisp, white cotton pants and a shirt with a bow tie, no less.
This makes me sound like a real old-timer, I'm sure. Like I've been around since Pangea, when John McCain was born. But in truth, I'm still on my way up the hill, not over it. Fifty is still out there for me. I can see it from here, with my glasses on, granted, but it's still out there. The fact is, it was not so long ago when milkmen roamed the earth.
These days nearly everyone buys milk in plastic. It comes from the gas station, or a mega-mart. There is nothing remarkable about it. Even the stuff itself is diluted and wholly unfulfilling. It is 'lo-' and 'reduced', all right. In more ways than one.
But, thankfully, the milkman, while endangered, is not extinct. And lucky me, I have one, named Joel, of Hanson's Dairy.
While some of the milkman mystique has faded; the jugs are plastic and Joel doesn't sport a bow tie or a white suit, the essence of home milk delivery remains, so long as Joel's around.
In fact, it may have even been improved upon, because Joel is a character in our lives. Someone who makes Tuesdays special. We've gotten to know him over the ten years he's been coming through the kitchen door and putting our order straight into the fridge. He's given our kids free frozen ice cream treats on hot summer days, helped me with a hammer and nail, and lends a sympathetic ear to recent stories of my mother's poor health. And a few years ago, knowing one of our daughters was wild about red foxes, he left a photo of one that visits his backyard on the refrigerator door.
When Joel heard that I started a blog about Stella, our vintage Airstream, he became a loyal reader and frequent commenter. When he saw the Vespa named Stella, he knew I'd love it and emailed me the picture you see here.
Thanks, Joel, for being the World's Most Wonderful Milkman! You're everything a milkman should be and more. But I think I'm going to get you a bow tie next Christmas.
