There was a get-together at our house one summer day. Grandma and Grandpa Cornell were there as were some of the Cornell Aunts and Uncles and their families. Several of the adults were sitting around in the back porch room talking about this and that. The coverings over the upper half of the outer wall were raised allowing for a good air flow and better lighting of the room. We were going to make some butter and ice cream.

Grandma had brought one of those mechanical butter churns into which you put whole milk, close it and agitate the milk to create butter. Whole milk was poured into the churn and Grandma sat in a rocker and began raising and lowering what looked like the end of a broom handle sticking out of the top of the churn. This constant motion is how the milk is agitated.

With that started, Grandpa said he'd show me a way to get butter without a churn and asked Mom to bring him some milk in a Mason jar with a lid. He held the jar with one hand on the bottom and the other on the top and started shaking it. He gave me the jar and said that if I did the same, I would make butter. He didn't tell me how long it would take; I shook and I shook and I stopped to check and I couldn't see any butter.

Operation of the churn passed from one person to another as the current churner tired; occasionally, Grandpa would give me a break with the jar. Finally, when I thought I must be doing something wrong, I saw a few small flecks of butter. After a while, there were small globs and later, there lumps. Grandpa told me that all the milk wouldn't become butter; after a while I could separate the lumps from the milk and press all the lumps together in a bowl and I'd have butter that I had made myself.

After the churning got under way, someone sat an ice cream machine on the floor. It was like a large wooden bucket and across the top was a metal bar-like piece, hinged to the bucket on one end and latched on the other. A metal canister hung from it reaching down into the center of the bucket with a couple inches of open space all around the canister. The bar was unlatched and the canister was removed revealing a set of paddles which were attached to the bar. The canister was filled with the ice cream ingredients and replaced; the bar was then put back into place and latched to the bucket.

Ice was poured into the area surrounding the canister and salt was poured over the ice from a container of Ice Cream Salt. There was a crank attached to the top of the metal bar and turning it caused the paddles to rotate in the ice cream mixture so that the temperature of the mixture would stay uniform. I thought that was strange, a special salt for ice cream? Grandpa explained that it was different than the salt we put on our food and was not put into the ice cream. He said that it helped the ice stay colder so that the ice cream would freeze.

All in all, it was a fun day, but there was one thing that bothered me. My brother, Kenneth, who was about four years old at that time, said some naughty word and several of the adults laughed. I didn't think it was funny. If I had said the same thing, Mom or Dad would have either fussed at me or given me a light smack across the mouth and told me never to say that again or I'd be in big trouble. But, Kenneth got approval by laughter, and that's all a little child needs to get him going. Upon seeing the adult response, he said it again and, when that produced laughter, he laughed and repeated the process again and again. Sometimes, he would pause a moment before speaking and, then, saying the word quickly.

Someone, I believe it was Grandpa, even started teaching him other naughty words to say. Kenneth obliged everyone with continued performances. To this day, I try to stop any such things from happening when I can. All a child learns is that saying naughty words is funny and will cause people to like you more.

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