The milk truck came around 9-10 every morning, backing down a long driveway to the milkroom. My mother was tired of tire tracks in the lawn and started lining the drive way with the largest rough edged rocks she could find.
Along with this drama, it was my job to watch the driver when he measured the milk in the tank to make sure that he didn't short us a couple hundred pounds! (The paranoid suspicion was that he'd do this at a bunch of farms and make some extra money.) I used to listen for the truck coming up the dirt road (2-3 cars a day was a busy day!) and drop everything to be there in time, or I'd have to listen to my stepfather later!....But mostly my stepfather got along with the driver!
Here are two pictures of the milk truck and our cow Pat, that produced enough milk in a year to fill the truck!