Staunton Star - Times - Published in the Interest of the Staunton Community for Over 143 Years

It was usually in the evening hours, as the heat of the day had subsided and touches of a night gave an air of mystery to the tiny fireflies as they took flight from their hiding places to ignite my world with sweet shadows, when from the corner of the kitchen I would hear the churning begin.

It is such a tender memory as I see her soft graying hair, neatly locked into a bun at the back of her small head, slightly bent now, while her arms move up and down, up and down, with the lifting and lowering of the wooden paddle.

Rich pure cream could be heard sloshing around inside the odd container...