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Caption: farm fresh milk in homage to
Caption: Visiting Pennsylvania where I grew up is always bittersweet. There’s a part of it that tugs at my heart and my senses, reminds me of what it was like to be little here, innocent. It’s comforting being surrounded by farmland every which way you turn. Stretches of open green fields for miles and miles, the smell of earth and air, so unlike the stench of city blacktops and restaurant fumes.
One of my favorite parts about visiting my hometown is picking up a glass jug of farm fresh milk at the local creamery.
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Caption: Milk tastes different in glass; perhaps it's the phantom nostalgia of milkmen dropping off fresh glasses filled to the brim with frothy milk on doorsteps every morning. Or the way the jug feels in your hands as you lift and pour, how the thick glass somehow keeps the milk colder. Maybe it's the way the cap snaps back on with a crisp click, or the subtle ring of sweet cream that lingers around the rim.
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Caption: Whatever it may be, milk from glass jugs is something special. It's childhood, history, family, all wrapped up in one. The raw heartbeat of tradition. It's the beauty of small town life. It's simplicity.
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Caption: Story by Kristyn Lee
Instagram: @kristynlee
Website: kristynlee.com
#stellermornings