“From tiny udders to towering Holsteins, some loves never fade.”

Almost 50 years ago, my Christmas wish list had just one thing: The Marvelous Milking Machine. If you grew up in the '70s or early '80s, you might remember her better by her official name – Milky the Marvelous Milking Cow. She was a battery-operated toy with a soft vinyl hide, a swishable tail and udders that “produced” milk. The magic happened when you filled her trough with water, dropped in a flavored tablet and pumped her tail to fill her udder. Moments later, you could actually milk her into a tiny tin pail. Childhood magic.

Oh, how I wanted to be a farmer. Oh, how I dreamed of barns full of animals – cows, pigs, chickens, goats. But Milky was as close as I would come to owning a dairy herd. Still, that Christmas morning is forever etched in my core memories. I can picture it perfectly: me in my pajamas, carefully tugging those tiny udders, my heart swelling with joy. Somewhere, there was a photograph my mom took that day. I’ve searched for it over the years – through cleanouts, after my parents passed – but I’ve never found it. Was it lost to time? Or tucked into a box somewhere, waiting to be rediscovered? It doesn’t matter because the image lives vividly in my mind.

That memory came rushing back not long ago as my husband and I were traveling through North Dakota. On the highway, we spotted a sign for “Salem Sue,” the world’s largest Holstein cow. We saw her long before we reached her – standing tall on a hill, black-and-white and proud, a beacon of the prairie.

I told my husband about my beloved Milky. He just smiled and said, “You and your love for farm animals!” Naturally, we pulled over. Standing beneath Salem Sue’s towering frame, I felt a lump in my throat. It sounds silly, but in that moment, I was 7 years old again, tugging on those silicone udders with a grin as wide as the prairie sky.

My dream of farming never became a career, but I’ve still found ways to surround myself with animals. Today, I’m the proud owner of four miniature donkeys – my own tiny herd. They serve no grand purpose other than bringing joy to my days, a reminder that some childhood passions never really leave us. I call them my “pasture pets.”

As for Salem Sue, she has her own story. Built in 1974, the 38-foot-tall, 50-foot-long fiberglass Holstein stands watch over the dairy farming community of New Salem, North Dakota. She was erected by the local Lions Club to promote the region’s dairy industry and honor the farmers whose work keeps milk flowing to our tables. From her hilltop perch, she can be seen for miles, a whimsical yet powerful symbol of pride in a way of life that is both demanding and essential.

That day, I smiled for a photo knowing that my story had come full circle – from a little girl with a plastic cow, to a middle-aged woman with a handful of real animals, to a traveler standing in awe of a giant Holstein on the prairie. And in that moment, I felt grateful – not just for my memories but for the dairy farmers who work tirelessly so families like mine can enjoy the milk, cheese and ice cream we so often take for granted.

Carol Thompson is a retired educator who divides her time between traveling, enjoying her spoiled animals at Scrawny Pines Farmette in northwest Georgia, and making memories with her grandchildren – who are only slightly less spoiled.