Summers with My Sister in Flemington, NJ

By Mildred Lippes

My sister was an owl and I a lark in our waking habits. We never argued and led unparallel lives. She was younger, a sassy tomboy, and I was a reserved introspective teenager.

Summers were spent at an uncle’s farm near Flemington, New Jersey. Year after year, we couldn’t wait to climb up the steep attached ladder to the hayloft in the barn. There, we would race across a wide beam and dive into the sweet smelling hay.

No problem for her, but the last year we went, I froze unable to dive after her. I sat on the beam a while then slowly descended the ladder to the spacious barnyard.

A huge unpaved oval centered on a water pump, with a three-seater outhouse or privy on one side, and an insulted closed shed on the other. There, the fresh milk in huge waist-high metal-capped containers was kept until daily delivery at dawn to the creamery -- my uncle’s never-ending responsibility.

The herd, which pastured during the day, consisted mainly of black-spotted, white Holsteins and smaller, Jersey, rust-colored cattle, all with proper girlish names.

Calving twins was a very rare occurrence and neighboring farm folk came to visit when one of the herd delivered a pair of twins instead of the usual one.

Around this time the state of New Jersey required all cattle to be tested for tuberculosis and some farmers lost many animals. We were in luck. Just one, a large healthy-looking Holstein named Dandy was infected while ‘Blue’ an oddly-colored spindly cow was fine and given an OK ear tag with the rest of the fortunate herd.