Sherrill's Dairy

Milk was sold in quarts and pints, with a choice of

"A" milk from the Jersey cows and "B" milk from

the Guernseys.

The Sherrill Farm in the 1930s, home of Sherrill's Dairy, was a spread of about 25 acres at the home site - between Springs-Fireplace Road and Accabonac Highway - 20 acres of additional lands on Cooper Lane, Cedar Street, and Egypt Lane, and 30 acres of woodlands in Northwest Woods. The farm had been in the family since 1792.

The home site consisted of a big farm house, two large barns (a horse barn and a cow barn), and a collection of smaller barns and outbuildings, together with a windmill and woodpile.

The cow barn, with its huge hay storage and two silos full of corn silage, was the hub of the dairy business. Here the milk was cooled, bottled, and kept in a large walk-in icebox.

In those days, milk was sold in quarts and pints, with a choice of "A" milk from the Jersey cows and "B" milk from the Guernseys. Heavy cream was separated and sold in half-pint bottles. Early in the morning, the delivery truck was loaded with cases of milk and cream for customers around the town. Local delivery was made by horse and wagon.

Some years later, as business grew, pasteurization equipment was added. When homogenized milk became popular, the dairy had a supply of homogenized milk processed at a local plant.

The dairy business expanded exponentially in June, July, and August, with the arrival of the summer colony. We delivered to the large houses on the ocean side. Many local businessmen, including my father, would meet prospective customers as they stepped off the train in East Hampton and solicit their business.

The milk-customer base was such that it could support three other local dairies: Hardscrabble, Tillinghast, and Gould. In the Maidstone Park area of Springs, my father would contact Alfred Haessler's father, who would recommend his friends as customers.

Seeking out new territory took us down to Gurney's Inn in Montauk, a small resort at that time, and we were able to supply them adequately. To make the trip more profitable, extra milk was added to sell to campers at the Hither Hills State Park. When my father made this delivery, he was sure to stop at Little Inn on Napeague Beach and treat us to a candy bar, so this was a popular trip.

The summer was for us kids a time of enjoyment. I would spend hours with some of the neighborhood kids splashing in the cow trough, a 20-foot-long square steel container that had once been used at the Parsons Ice Plant as an overflow basin. It was fun to create giant tidal waves and watch our handmade toy boats ride up and over these manmade tsunamis.

In June and July, some of the farm lots were harvested in hay, and after the cutting and hay-making, the cows were put to pasture on these lands. After the morning milking, they were herded and driven to one of these noncontiguous lots to graze until it was time to drive them back to the barn for the afternoon milking. After a trip or two, the lead cow knew the way and the rest followed.

But someone had to drive these cows and patrol their movements in order to keep them off lawns and out of flower gardens along the way, and then, when in the pasture, close the fence. Neighborhood boys and girls often volunteered to do this job.

One lot in particular, Hook Lot on Egypt Lane, was especially interesting. It necessitated going under the railroad trestle and crossing Montauk Highway. Traffic would stop, and not proceed until the last cow had crossed.

The family, during the free time between hay making and the corn harvest, would go to the bay or ocean for bathing and relaxation. We had a sailboat moored in Three Mile Harbor. Most Sunday afternoons we sailed to Sammy's Beach for picnics.

About the end of August the corn harvest began and it was silo-filling time. When the machinery had been set up and the wagon loads of corn stalks arrived at the farm, a lot of kids would show up to watch. Some of them got into the action, riding on the corn wagon, helping to put the corn onto the conveyor that fed the silage cutter, or getting into the silo to help tramp and pack down the silage uniformly as it was distributed.

After school began in September, the fascination waned for most of these kids, but for me, the work continued until the job was done.

In the fall, after all the crops were in, an afternoon break in the daily dairy routine was a time to explore stubbles and fields with the dog and shotgun, and to enjoy the sport of upland hunting. Sometimes a covey of quail or a pheasant was flushed; then came the art of leading the birds and squeezing the trigger.

Sometimes my father would combine shooting with field work. One of his lots, a section of land he hired from Mrs. Childe Hassam, was put up in corn shocks to be husked after the ears had dried sufficiently - a great place to shoot pigeon doves. These birds were tricky flyers and when flushed by the dog would flutter off the ground and dart around the corn shocks. Quick action and skill were needed to hit one.

Most winters, the farm would be covered with snow. Warm days often brought rain, which combined with the melted snow to form a pond in the watershed in back of the barns. When the temperatures remained at freezing levels, we had wonderful skating. The neighborhood kids learned to skate there, and after school skaters would gather for fun and socializing. Sometimes skating parties would last into the evening.

Skaters would gather sticks and loose limbs to build small bonfires to add to their comfort and enjoyment. The pond lasted for weeks, and got bigger with the late-winter thaw. My mother, with some maritime background, had my father launch his rowboat and there she taught my sister and me to row a boat.

The boat-in-the-pond idea caught on. Neighborhood kids would launch homemade rafts - Huck Finn style - and float them on the pond.

One imaginative boy cut a barrel in half lengthwise. When he boarded this half-barrel boat and shoved off, the laws of physics betrayed him. I was observing this exercise from a distance and watched this cow-pasture sailor scramble ashore soaking wet, taking his boat with him.

In the spring, my father was sending out letters to former dairy customers in New York City and getting names of new people from real estate agents to solicit new business. In between time, land had to be prepared, grass seed sown, corn planted, and fences around the cow pasture repaired.

Around the farm, there was always something to see and do. A working farm was an attraction. During the early-morning milking, a town policeman would interrupt his patrol to refresh himself with a taste of milk and tell a story or two. At the afternoon milking, visitors would stop by to gossip, and kids would play in or around the barns.

A former neighbor told me a few years ago, "Those days we played in the barns, flying our kites in the fields, sloshing in the cow trough, and knocking golf balls all over the place kept us all well and happy."

Edwin L. Sherrill Jr. was born and raised in East Hampton. He is a member of the East Hampton Village Board.