Early Delivery The Clinking Of Milk Bottles Being Delivered On The Porch At 5:30 A.M. Was A Warm And Friendly Wake-Up Call

Today’s supermarkets have changed the American way of shopping for food, not all for the better in my opinion. One of the great pleasures of my growing up was listening for the milkman early in the morning. As this kindly man in his sparkling white uniform approached our front porch, the bottles in his carrying container clinked melodically. It was a most pleasant sound, much more soothing than an alarm clock.

One morning he caught me peeking out through the curtains of my second-floor bedroom window. He smiled up at me and waved as he turned and started back to his freshly washed truck. He was whistling as usual. From then on I’m sure he looked up every morning to see if I was there.

In the summertime this type of awakening was eagerly anticipated. Can you say this about one of those noisy, sleep-robbing, mechanical illuminated monsters called an alarm clock? Certainly no one is having bright cheery thoughts as they extend their arm to still its unwelcome voice.

As the milkman woke me at 5:30 a.m. on a summer morning, the birds chirped with wild abandon. The street sounds were not included to stifle their cheery sounds. The early morning fresh air, scented with the sweet smell of blooming flowers in spring and summer, gently rustled the curtains as it drifted in my window. Its coolness felt good on my warm skin. Now I could start my day. Who wants to sleep in when you have the whole day ahead of you? This man who delivered our milk would also come around during the day to sell mother all the extras produced by the dairy. My father warned mother not to buy any, but she only smiled. After all, she knew how much he enjoyed the extra treats.

On cold winter mornings when my sleep was disturbed by his tinkling steps, I would smile. I knew I could sleep for another hour before I had to get up. It would be dark, and no thought of arising early crossed my mind.

I guess you could call the milkman my snooze alarm during the winter months. This extra hour allowed me the pleasure of having my dad get up and go to the basement to build a roaring fire in the furnace. As soon as dad opened the basement door my dog Spud, so named because he was round and the color of a potato, bolted for my bedroom, and with wagging tail and wet tongue, snuggled down in my soft blankets. I hoped my bedroom floor would be warm by the time I had to put my feet on it.

While I lay in bed, I would wonder if it was cold enough to freeze the milk and allow it to expand, pushing the milk and cream upward out of the bottle. These castlelike creations would often have the bottle caps sitting on top of the frozen milk protruding from the bottle.

In my imagination the bottles reminded me of soldiers in formation with helmets on their heads. We could gauge how cold it was by how high the frozen milk protruded above the bottle, looking like the mercury in a thermometer.

I once caught our cat enjoying a special treat as she stood on her hind legs and licked the frozen cream.

Too bad today’s children will never be able to snuggle down in their blankets on a cold winter morning and wonder if the milk on the porch will freeze.

They will sleep in on bright, sunny summer mornings and miss the sunrise. The birds will be busy socializing with their chirping, and the sleepyheads will never hear their songs, all because they have no friendly alarm.

Sometimes as I lay in bed in the morning, listening to my friendly alarm, I would ponder a career as a milkman. This field didn’t rate as high as a policeman or fireman, but it was close to the top. I could only imagine how exciting it must have been in the early years, when the milkman had a horse pulling his wagon. This little side benefit would have rated high on my list.

They called it a door-to-door service, but I call it a bit of Americana that unfortunately has all but disappeared.

Believe me, the dairy case in the supermarket will stir no fond memories in my children or grandchildren. To them it’s only a shiny, sterile piece of machinery where the milk for their cereal is stored.

The early morning fresh air, scented with the sweet smell of blooming flowers in spring and summer, will be lost forever on a sleeping child.

Certainly the frost inside that dairy case will never generate the warmth I felt as our milkman looked up at me, smiled and waved.

James A. Nelson is a free-lance writer who lives in Spokane.