The taste of homemade butter.

I remember when my mother and father would  take us to visit my grandmother. She lived in West Virginia and I was thrilled to see a churn similar to this one, sitting on her front porch. Sometimes we would pull into the driveway and there she sat in her rocking chair, churning her fresh milk then selling the butter.  She would churn all day or at least until her arms ached. All the neighbors on the old dirt road would come by and ask for a tub full of her butter. The butter was the very best and  how fresh it was!
My sister and I would wake up the next morning to find she had made biscuits and gravy for us. We topped off the warm  biscuits with freshly churned butter. After breakfast she would shoo us outside to play. Oh to be young again.