“Get Gustafsons, my mother-in-law yelled as my husband made his exit to make go on a ”milk run.” Having no idea what she meant. I asked, “What is Gustafsons?” My husband who had already bolted toward the door, turned on his heel and said, “You have never heard of ‘Ma and Pa Gus’?” Now call me a non-brand, but I had no idea what sort of milk they were referring to. When my mom went to snag milk she bought the store brand. Whatever store she happened to be in, was the brand she came home with. As an adult mom myself, I inherited her “store brand” mentality. Well that morning I was introduced to Ma and Pa Gus. My husband family lives in Florida. After he got back with the milk, it was then I realized the milk came from cows in Florida. Below is the “milk’s history.”
Our History
Gustafson’s Dairy started in the early 1900’s when Mama & Papa Gus bought one cow named Buttercup. She provided milk for their six children and nearby neighbors. Her neighbors began asking to buy milk and butter, so Mama Gus bought more cows. She started churning butter in a small building in her backyard until 1925, when the City of Green Cove Springs asked the Gustafson family to move their cows because they were wandering in the City. In 1925, the Dairy moved to its present location, and the rest is history.
Well Ma Gus was a surprise entreprenuer! I checked out her picture on the carton and we discussed what information was known about her. Because she was an “early pioneer” in business as a woman, her name stuck in my mind. ( I imagine “back in the day” being a woman entreprenuer was not as easy as today.)
My own mother has been dead for the most part of my adult life. Cancer took her body when I was in my early twenties. My mom also sufferred from depression. I put her in the column of being an “early pioneer” because her story has given me the courage to maintain changes in my person. I do, however, miss her. Mother’s Day is always a challenge. Usually I avoid card aisles, T.V, church and any other place that discusses “mother’s and daughters.”
I still manage on Mother’s Day to pause and think of her. So here’s to you Mom, “My north, my south, me east, and my west; My working week and my Sunday rest; My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song . . .”
Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
