This was going to be a blog post about how I made ice cream one day. Actually, it still is about ice cream–and something a little deeper.
It all started because my friend Tammy wasn’t able to use her one-gallon share of raw milk from Lubbers Farm and she knows I like it, plus it’s the only cow dairy product that Bill can stomach. (It turns out, many people with cow dairy allergies can handle raw milk.)
I love raw milk but you can only get it the old-fashioned way: whole milk with cream on top. There’s nothing better than shaking up a bottle of milk and cream, then pouring this rich, fatty, delight into a cup of dark, strong coffee. And a few months later, add on another five pounds.
Since Bill’s not a big milk consumer even though he can handle the raw milk, and I was concerned about consuming too much fat, we opted out of a committing to our own milk share. (For my coffee, I buy local, organic, pasteurized 2% fat milk from Hilhof Dairy.)
Where do the warm fuzzies come into play? I’m getting there….
Another friend of Tammy’s was going to be sharing the gallon of milk with me. Still, half a gallon is a lot to use, and I wasn’t sure if I could finish it before it spoiled. So I asked my friend Lois for suggestions on how to make the best use of this gift. Turns out, she has an electric ice cream maker! (I think I only made homemade ice cream once and it was back in the day when we had to crank it in a bucket full of rock salt.)
Next came the challenge of picking up the milk. Pick-up day was Monday and the farm is about 30 miles from where we live. In the end, Tammy’s friend picked up the milk, which I then picked up from her front porch. We got two quarts.
Do you see what’s happening here? Four people–who happen to be women–had their hands in our ice cream, so to speak (not counting the farmer who milked the cow): Tammy, the milk share owner who offered the gift; Tammy’s friend who shared and transported it; Lois, who loaned me the ice cream maker; and me, the ice cream maker.
So here’s the warm fuzzy part. It’s really touching how people within a community help each other out for even the smallest needs. Food, of course, is not trite. But Tammy did not want to waste the milk, and I didn’t want to see it wasted either. Everyone had a role in getting the milk from the cow into the form of ice cream that now sits happily in our freezer, for Bill and me to enjoy when we crave it.
I think this is how communities should operate today, instead of wondering where our food was sourced and not having a hand in getting it to our own kitchen tables.
As for the ice cream, a fifth person had a hand in its making: Bill. We spent an evening after dinner reading the instructions for Lois’ ice cream maker, mixing the ingredients for vanilla ice cream, and watching a blend of raw milk, cream, eggs, sugar, and vanilla freeze its way into a dessert Bill can enjoy.