Milk Vacation
My mom liked to say that we were broke, not poor. The differentiation is that being poor is generational, and most likely lasts at least a lifetime. You come from poor, you’re poor, your kids are poor. Broke, however, means you’re not living up to your economic potential just now, but you may not have been broke last year, and you don’t think you will be next year. It’s temporary. You don’t act poor, you still act like a lady or a gentleman, whatever that means within your family.
Growing up as the child of a single mom, one who loved teaching in private Montessori schools and working for social services, there were many times in my youth when we were broke. There were also times when we weren’t broke, but overall it wasn’t unusual for us to get free lunch at school, and we understood well the concept of waiting for something we wanted (or needed) until the next payday. We also understood about pinching pennies when it came to putting food on the table. Crackers and kool-aid for a snack. Big blocks of discount cheese. Top Ramen. Rice and beans. Generic puffed rice cereal, served with that true signal of being broke, powdered milk. Gah, I hated powdered milk. The anemic blueish tinge. The artificial, fat free flavor. The wateriness. The chalkiness. The feeling of being perhaps not broke, but poor.
I loved milk growing up. I would drink it with every meal if I could, sometimes two or three glasses. Richard didn’t drink milk, but he ate a lot of cereal, sometimes for a meal and other times for a snack, and he liked a lot of milk with that. With two growing kids and not enough money, we often turned to powdered milk, as bitter as that seemed to us at the time. Sometimes, at the beginning of the pay period, we could have half and half…meaning half regular milk, half powdered. But by the end of the month, we were on straight powdered milk again. Ugh.
In 6th grade, our school sent the students to ‘Science Camp’, off in the Santa Cruz mountains. You would go for a week, and camp in cabins with high school seniors as your counselors, with employees of the camp to guide you to the ocean tide pools, out at night to see the stars up close without city pollution, a ring of fairy trees that seemed somehow magical, tall redwoods, twisty cypress trees, creeks and meadows and slugs. It was a wonderful week, for many of us, our first week away from home. This was before Proposition 13 ravaged the California school system, and those of us with parents who were broke or poor could apply for aid, and go along with the rest of the class. (Nowadays, they have to stay behind in a sad group, fully aware of what they’re missing, and loaded down with busy work.) So off I went. I loved every minute of it, loved the tide pools and the stars and the ring of trees. Loved my counselor, who would look the other way when I broke the rules, reading in my sleeping bag with my flashlight, singing songs around the campfire (The cat came back, the very next day…). But perhaps the thing I loved the most, the thing I remember, is the milk.
We would come in to the cafeteria cabin, every meal, fresh from our hikes and adventures, hungry and tired. There was plenty of hot food, as much as you wanted. I never went hungry at home, so this was nice, but not new. But also on the table, all along the middle, were quarts of milk. Real milk. Not powdered. Whole, delicious, creamy milk. And we could drink all that we wanted. I was very careful at first not to take more than one serving, but then one day, I saw the quart empty, and someone just came along with another one, and replaced it. I gathered my courage, and asked, “Can we have seconds on milk if we want to?” “Of course, honey, you can have all of the milk you want.” was the wondrous reply. All I wanted? Even when we weren’t on powdered milk, we were rationed to 1/2 gallon each per week. But now, I could have ALL I WANTED. You cannot imagine. I drank glass after glass, every day, for the rest of the week. It felt so amazing, so wonderful, to have meat whenever we wanted, cereal that wasn’t generic puffed rice, and most of all, all of the regular whole milk I wanted. Not powdered. Not powdered.
I still remember that week so fondly, I remember greedily drinking glass after glass of milk, and looking back, I sometimes wonder what the adults at Science Camp thought…and how common such sights would be. Now, thankfully, though we are by no means wealthy, we can afford to buy milk whenever we run low…and we buy solely from Organic Valley, because it’s local, and most importantly it’s the most delicious milk in our area. Yum.
(Probably no one out there but Ted and me remember the episode of Thirtysomething where Miles Drentel says, “We marry ourselves, Michael…”. Well, sometimes we do. Ted had a milk vacation too.
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V-Grrrl @ Compost Studios
I can relate to this. My dad was an electrician and our personal economy rose and fell with the construction industry. There were six kids in the family and powdered milk found its way into our home too. It was, indeed, loathsome. I have two teenage milk drinkers in the house and buy about three gallons of organic milk a week and feel fortunate that my kids can have ALL THE MILK THEY WANT.
J
V-Grrrl, I’m with you. It’s wonderful to be able to give our kids real milk and some of the little things we didn’t have. I do hope they appreciate it! 🙂
Nance
This was a beautifully written memoir, J. I was so invested while reading it. It illustrated so well how a simple thing like Milk, taken for granted by so many–me included, I hate the stuff–has great symbolism for you. The story here is so poignant, yet so uplifting. You don’t sound bitter or even sad; you sound…sympathetic. Sympathetic to your mom and to Young J. and her brother, and aware that it probably provided in no small way a part in building your character. I’m always so glad I read here. Especially today.
J
Thanks so much, Nance, that means a lot coming from you.
Bitter? No, my mom did her best with us every single day. I guess I could be bitter that she didn’t have better opportunities to make more money in her chosen fields.
Cherry
We did the half and half stuff (half milk/half powdered) when I was young but at some point I remember a box of powdered milk just sitting in the pantry which eventually got bugs in it and I never saw powdered milk again.
I was and am a milk drinker, no a chugger. I LOVE MILK! I used to go to a friend’s house and chug glass after glass of milk while the parents would say things like, “why can’t you drink milk like Cherry?” as my friend would sip her juice glass size thimble of milk.
Of course now that I’m footing the bill, I feel a guilty for being so greedy. 🙂
J
Guilty? No Cherry, ENJOY THE MILK. 🙂
Christine
Oh my goodness, J! I just love reading your posts. Growing up, I don’t really remember drinking that much milk! I know we did, but nothing significant comes to mind when thinking about it.
I know that my husband drank a lot of milk, growing up on the farm. They have beef cattle and kept one dairy cow for their milk. His mom made the family’s butter, yogurt, etc from the milk and they drank the milk unpasteurized…pretty much straight from the cow. Well, not straight from the cow. You know what I mean.
In hard times, my MIL would use powdered milk and water to make their milk stretch. I’ve never lived without money or food in my childhood/growing up. It was hard for me to relate to Hubby’s experience. Now I’m living it. Gah! LOL!
J
Chrissy, I’ve heard a few times that going through tough times builds character. Think of all the character you’re building now! 🙂
Ted
Now I know the next time Cherry comes over, we’re having a milk party!
J
I know, we should totally buy a bunch of milk and just ENJOY it.
Susheela Thomas
I grew up drinking a lot of milk because we had milking cows. I wished you and Ted were around at that time, but then we would not have had such interesting and nicely written blogs by the two of you.xx
J
I never knew you had milk cows, Ma, that’s awesome.
J
I was sad that I had so many comments on Facebook to this, but not here…so I copied them over. 🙂 For me.
Candy Dish Curtain I had pop vacations
Denise Powdered milk was the scourge of our household after my dad died; I haven’t touched it since. Oddly, whole milk now tastes too rich and leaves a filmy trace….I can relate to the sense of being demoted, though!
Martyn Oh good lord…its like I wrote this. Powdered milk? Goverment cheese? Science camp? Reading that was like literary deje vu…
Candy Dish Curtain I don’t remember Gov’ment cheese being good for much except nachos
Maya W Reading this made me cry. We are so lucky to give our kids the basics, and then some. There is so much that is taken for granted by so many. Myself included, although I try to remember as often as I can how fortunate I am. ?
p.s. You ought to compile your writing into a book of essays one day. Seriously, I love your stories and writing.
Martyn Every few months…behind the Stockton Hilton…a truck would show up and my mom would have me go up to the guy and he would hand me a block…the size of brick mind you….of cheese. Govm’t surplus or some such…at least that’s what my mom told me. Who knows…my mom was a little on the crazy side.
Candy Dish Curtain Out of a truck? I think I would have liked getting my cheese brick off a truck. We got enormous butter bricks along with it. Had always hoped for a Gov’ment deep fryer to go along with
J Denise, I’m with you on the whole milk. We drink 1% now. But growing up? It was whole whenever we got our hands on it.
J Martyn, who knew there were others going through the powdered milk thing? Were you totally excited by the availability of milk at science camp?
J CDC, we didn’t get govt cheese, but my mom would never buy the handy pre-sliced cheese. Just a big lb or 2 lb block. I don’t think if she won the lottery, her constitution would have allowed her to be frivolous enough to buy sliced cheese.
Martyn I refuse to give up whole milk. I never drink just a glass of it anymore…but on my cereal…in my coffee and for cooking I won’t use anything else. FAT=FLAVOR. Nufsaid.
J Maya, don’t cry. Of all the troubles in the world, powdered milk isn’t the worst. We did have food on our table, even if it was rice and beans. And we had a loving household. :)(and we had a house, even if it was a duplex and we were sometimes late with the rent…)
Martyn I do remember there being an unusually large supply of milk jugs at science camp. But thats not what sticks out…it was the donuts. on each table there was a plate of donuts. A PLATE! FOR EACH TABLE!!!! God…being a kid was awesome.
Maya W Oh, I know, you had all you needed. It just made me think of all the people who struggle, and no matter how hard they work they have trouble making ends meet. Made me think of people all around the world who struggle, of places where people really can’t feed their children (here and abroad) and there may be no “safety net”. I don’t know, just took me down a road far beyond your story. And be glad that your writing and words can bring up powerful thoughts and emotions. That is a gift.
Candy Dish Curtain Jeez, and here I’ve all but given up cow’s milk. Makes me want to buy some just cuz I can
J Maya, being grateful of our gifts is a good thing. I agree. 🙂 And it sucks thinking about those who have to go without.
J CDC, buy something else you like and be glad you can. Skip the cow’s milk. 🙂
Candy Dish Curtain SO coconut milk is great, but low on calcium
Joyce Julie, great story. We also had almost no money when I was growing up, and lots of powdered and 2% milk. Whole milk was a special treat for holidays. Consequently, I now drink enough whole milk to keep several dairies in business. I’ll cook with fat-free or reduced fat milk, but for just drinking, much prefer the real thing. Glad you could make a happy memory out of a tough situation.
Auntie Kate
My kids would be nodding their heads over this entry. Half & half — that’s mostly all they ever got when they were kids. And generic cereal, well, Kix actually. Almost generic. Mike shudders to this day when anyone mentions either powdered milk or Kix. Poor guy — he vowed he would never be broke (or poor) & put his kids through this. & life has just dealt him a reminder that we are not always the masters of our fates. But his kids won’t have to drink powdered milk, you can bet your bottom dollar on that!
J
Well, that’s key isn’t it? We are indeed not always masters of our fate. My mother certainly didn’t want to give us milk that we all hated (as I’m sure you weren’t thrilled about it either). But we have to make due with what we have available, right?
I wonder, for those of us who had and hated the powdered milk, what other things we would give up before resorting to that? I mean, by the time you’re drinking powdered milk, you’ve pretty much given up all of the luxuries in life, wouldn’t you say?