The Story of the Milk Squirt
Adrian Fisher is the founder of Rooted in Hull. Recently retired from his role in charge of our urban farm space, he spent a good portion of his formative and adult years around the farming industry, which is where he gained the passion for producing high quality food, whilst being aware that not everybody has ready access to that quality. This is one of the reasons Adrian had the idea that Rooted could be a place in the city centre that, through physical demonstration of more sustainable food production practices, could raise awareness in our community about where our food comes from.
A life in farming has furnished Adrian with a wealth of experience and knowledge of those food production technologies, but this month we got him to plough a little deeper than the norm. The resulting harvest yielded a surprising story from his early childhood on the farm. Over to Adrian it is then…
The Milk Squirt by Adrian Fisher
I had a great childhood being brought up on a farm; the whole farmyard, fields and woodland were my playground, and I had some fantastic times. However, I had two brothers, Reg and Robin. They were about 20 years older than me (that’s a story in itself), and didn’t have a lot of time for me, especially over those toddler years. I think they treated me like a spoiled brat. Any interaction would be at my expense, and anything to gain a laugh. One of these I remember was the ‘milk squirt’…
A young Adrian Fisher – The Milk Squirt
I wouldn’t have been much older than walking age, but I do remember vividly being carried into the milking shed by one of my brothers. I would then be held around my waist, facing the side of a cow. The other brother would stoop down and start milking the cow through one of its teats. Once he had a good flow going I would then be squeezed firmly until I had to gasp, at which time the trick was to squirt milk straight into my mouth. If the squirt was a direct hit down my throat, they changed over. The winner was the one who had the most direct squirts.
You would think I would never want to drink milk again after this fooling around. However, in my later years, this experience shaped a lot of my thinking about food. I realised my family accepted good food. Yes, they were fortunate as farmers working at a time when a farm was a farm – a mixture of livestock, arable and sometimes veg. They knew that the food they produced was good and wholesome, and, coupled with home baking, it was very good for you.
The phrase ‘processed food’ would only be used in the production of naturally creating a foodstuff, maybe from what would have been a waste product, even using a pig’s brain to make brawn. The more common definition of processing would be churning milk to make butter, not only butter but buttermilk. Sausages and mince would also be made in the farm kitchen. To be honest, the list is endless. I am sure there was stuff produced that I still have no idea about, mainly because a lot of these processes were never written down. It was passed on by watching, gained by experience and, more importantly, by storytelling. A far cry from today’s processed food which, in my opinion, is only done to make money for processors and supermarkets.
