It was a hot summer day in Wisconsin, the gardens ripening fat,red tomatoes, the woods and river banks were grown over tall with fire weed, the poison ivy thriving where it was least expected. Bare legs wore scratches from hay making and bare arms their scratches from picking raspberries or blackberries. At night, the farmhouse lay sweltering, leftovers from the heat of the day. Even with all the windows wide open, the humidity in those upstairs bedrooms lay heavy on the skin. A thin sheet was barely bearable. The barn was small, neat and tidy for a cow barn, the walkway freshly broomed and limed. The cows were big milking Holsteins. They lazily chewed their hay and flicked flies off their swayed backs with their tails. The farmer nervously shifted his hat and scratched his head as he gave instruction to my mom and us three girls how to take care of the feeding and milking while his family went away on a much needed family vacation. Before the farmer finished his explanations,...