"It was a clear, fall evening and Father and Brother were ready to milk the cows.  I asked my father if he would teach me to milk, for it was the common belief that all farm women knew how to milk.  I didn’t.  'Come along,' my father said.  I tagged along but when Bessie saw someone in a skirt, she rolled her eyes.  Even though being the most gentle of the herd, she was suspicious of me.

Father gave me a three legged stool and a milk pail.  He demonstrated how you squeeze the teat and then release in sort of rhythm.  I sat down, and after a couple of squeezes, Bessie decided she’d have to do something about this.  She raised up her left hind leg and stepped squarely into the pail.  I jumped up, the stool fell over, and I ran.  Bessie thought, ‘I got rid of her.’  I’ll bet she smiled to herself, our Gentle Bessie.  And I remained the farmer’s daughter that never learned to milk cows."

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