Making butter.

With gallons and gallons of raw organic milk available for us on the farm, we had to try to make homemade butter.

I have a slight recollection of how butter was being made in a small Ukrainian village that I visited years ago. The mental picture in my mind froze to an image of my sister-in-law's grandma, sitting on a low stool and shaking a 3 liter glass jar from side to side in a steady, putting you to sleep kind of rhythm. If you asked me, I would probably recall the color of her calico dress that she had worn for years, and the shape of her wide apron that was covering almost the whole front of her dress. She would sit, gently rocking and singing some folk songs and in about an hour she'd have a chunk of the best butter a city girl as myself had ever tasted. Needless to say, that summer I came back home 10 lb heavier, barely fitting into my shorts and dresses.

To relive the wonderful memories of my trip to Ukraine, we were making butter almost the same way. We picked smaller jars, though, so it's easier for the kids to handle, and started shaking them. Then we moved onto the floor and decided to roll them towards each other, playing silly words game meanwhile.

Nobody wanted to miss on the fun and before long there was the whole team of young "butter makers". Ivana, Leona, Ivan, Sebastian and Evan were all happy to participate. My gentle reminders not to throw the jars at each other were echoing in the living room. "Roll them, guys. Gently. Roll them, guys. Gently. Roll the jars, guys. Gently. Easy does it", you could hear me saying the same thing over and over.

When small curds of fat became visible on the glass of the jar, everybody got even more excited and my warnings had to come even more frequent.

Soon we were ready to strain our butter and see how much our team had managed to produce.

For dinner Julie baked some bread and we all enjoyed it with the fresh Dairy By The Lake butter. All, except for Guildas. Those French with their peculiar ways and butter needing salt!Smile!