To You … With Love,

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 and butter was on its way. Soft, white colored butter, to be shaped and molded into the cubicle of wood. It is with prayerful wonder that this memory comes to me, for as faithfully and steadfast as she churned the cream into its solid forms, she molded the lives of her three grandchildren into substantial clay pots, fashioned with love by the woman at the churn.

In Loving memory of Nellie Jane Yale, my grandmother who passed away Feb 4, 1977

Rev. Avis RichArdson (retired)