5 Things We’ll Miss About The Mill
After 58 years of operation in Iowa City, The Mill is shutting its doors. Beloved by many, The Mill wasn’t just a place to make bread, it was a place to make memories. Joy, kinship, and laughter were had there many times over. In tribute, here are five things we at The Doily Allergen will miss most about The Mill.
The familiar sound of Grand Papa’s singing old folk songs as he brought it the wheat harvest
Grand Papa Henry could never seem to help himself from a rendition of “Tis’ Noon Beyond The Barley Fields” or “A Hymn For Tired Ears” while stacking the day’s wheat bundles on the far north side of The Mill. His voice, long ago made hoarse by pipe smoke and bar room chatter, eased all our spirits; gave us the strength to work on through the hot summer sun. It’s a voice that will be missed.
That warm, homey smell of fresh grain being mixed into gristing.
Anyone who has ever visited The Mill can recall at an instant that wonderful homey smell that wafted through all four stories of the building when Grand Papa’s cleaned grains were mixed together in the gristing sivs. Some strange, sweet residue like honeysuckle always seemed to meander in that warm air. I don’t suppose we’ll ever quite figure out what it was, now that The Mill’s shut down.
Little Juliana and Sophia smiling as they watched the gristling being ground into white flour.
Who could forget those beautiful and charming cousins of ours; the way their eyes widened as they watched the millstone spin ‘round and ‘round again. Always I’ll recount their innocent little grins bursting forth in genuine gaiety and wonder, sheltered from the pains and hard labor that their elders took to wrought the fine white flour they so happily held in tiny palms—flour they no doubt will never hold again—with The Mill shuttered up for good.
How you could taste the love and labour put into Aunt Rosalie’s famous crunch bread
There’s no doubt about it, when a long day at The Mill day was finally finished, and the mules had all been stabled and fed, that first bite of Aunt Rosalie’s crunch bread at the dining room table was a blest delight like none other. Amber beams of sun soused that little kitchen, the aches in our joints melted away, and for a moment the sweat on our still dirty brows seemed to glisten like clear, cerulean reservoirs as we merrily gorged those loaves, those fruits of our labors—those stuffs of Angels.
De voldoening van een dag harden werken!
Wat we het meest zullen missen aan The Mill is zonder twijfel het gevoel van familie, gemeenschap, en gedeelde arbeid aan het einde van een lange dag werken met degenen van wie je houdt. Samen hebben we de kost voor onszelf verdiend in de coutnry-kant waar we zo van hielden, snel mijn penise vasthouden oh ja dat voelt goed. Als je dit daadwerkelijk hebt vertaald naar Nederlandse congradulaties, klootzak. Rust zacht Grand Papa Henry’s Mill