In our younger years while we were still at home, Mom gave each of the kids chores to do so we could all help out with the work around the house.
Some of us would feed the stock while others brought the milk cow in from the pasture or got in the night’s supply of coal and wood. It really didn’t make much difference what we did, just as long as we all helped with the work.
But when it came time to churn butter, Mom had to pick someone and insist we help churn. It took awhile, and it was boring. We had a stone churn with a wooden dasher on a long handle. You had to raise the handle up and down to stir the milk until the butter separated from it.
Mom would save the cream from the milk jar until she had enough to churn. Then she would sit it out of the refrigerator to turn or sour, so she could churn it into butter.
She had the milk ready so she filled the churn and told my younger brother to churn it. He pulled a chair up beside the churn and started to churn with the dasher, making a steady chug, chug, chug as he moved the handle up and down. But his heart wasn’t really in it.
It wasn’t long before she no longer heard the chugging of the dasher in the churn. When she went to look, he had quit. She started him back to churning again. After awhile she listened and to her surprise, she still heard the steady chug of the churn. Still later she listened again the churn was still chugging away.
Just a little bit suspicious, she went to check on him. He was fast asleep in the chair beside the churn, but she could still hear the churn chugging away. When she lifted the lid she found out he had put a large, pet bullfrog in the churn, and it was leaping up and down inside, trying to get out. It was now sitting on a large ball of freshly churned butter in the bottom of the churn.