Cream Separators: Not for Family Farms Anymore

Wisconsin State Fair means cream puffs, and COVID 19 quarantining means more than a few are becoming pros at making their own delights. When  you need cream for your own cream puffs, you jot “cream” on your grocery list and pick it up when you get groceries. If you need it immediately, you might make a special trip to the market or have it delivered. If you were making cream puffs for Mother’s Day in 1920, for instance, you’d be out of luck unless you just milked the cows and had a cream separator. 

What’s a cream separator? It’s a machine for separating and removing cream from whole milk. Butterfat particles are held in suspension in milk and when milk is allowed to sit, the heavier particles sink to the bottom of the container while the lighter butterfat particles rise to the top. One of the earliest methods of removing cream was pouring milk into shallow pans and allowing it to sit for at least a day and a half. The cream rose to the top and was “skimmed” off. While the method worked for small amounts of milk, it was not efficient. And, as today, improperly stored milk sours.

As farms grew and farmers moved from a cow or two to 10, or even 12, milk needed to be dealt with quickly. Often, it was put in tall cans that were set in troughs of cold water, or perhaps in an artesian well. Gravity took its toll and the heavy particles sank while the lighter butterfat rose to the top. Cream was taken off the top of the can. Some cans had bottom drains thus enabling skimmed milk to be drained off, leaving the cream in the can. By the late 1890s, Sears & Roebuck catalog sold such cans for 55 cents. In addition to the drains, some of those cans had a small glass window allowing the farmer’s wife to check on the process. By the late 1890s, Sears & Roebuck catalog sold such cans for 55 cents. In addition to the drains, some of those cans had a small glass window allowing the farmer’s wife to check on the process.

Montgomery Ward & Co. catalog was also selling such items, and at the start of Kewaunee County’s new Rural Free Delivery (RFD) on November 30, 1904, the mailmen were delivering cream separators to county residents. Even before R.F.D., Davis Separators were making inroads. The company in 1895 said that purchased separators would be sent free from Chicago. Davis said separators met a farmer’s needs if he had one cow or as many as 1,000. Boastful advertising it was. Who ever heard of a 1900 dairy farmer having 1,000 cows?

Sometime during the mid-1800s, a German fellow developed a system applying centrifugal force to separate the cream, however history tells us that the ancient Chinese had developed it years before. Another German introduced his separating machine at an 1874 dairy exposition. He separated an astounding 200# of milk in about 30 minutes, but history also tells us that it took another 30 or so minutes for his separation drum to stop its rotation, during which time the skimmed milk was drained off. The German, Wilhelm Lefeldt, applied for a patent and got it in 1877. Then came the Swedish Carl Gustav de Laval who improved the design and whose name is nearly synonymous with dairy equipment.

Although cream separators meant farmers could make some money if they had more cows, there was one more problem: butterfat content. In 1890, University of Wisconsin Dr. Stephen Babcock developed a test measuring, accurately, the amount of butterfat in milk. 

Babcock lives on. Babcock Hall on the campus of UW-Madison is a great place to go for ice cream. There is never a dull day with plain old chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, On the right day, one can bask in such flavors as Barry Alvarez and On Wisconsin while enjoying history with the ice cream in the “grand old Badger state….....”

Babcock’s tests were important in the testing of milk that might have skimmed or watered down before being sold. There were those who tried to beat the system 100 years ago too. Farmers were making  a little money but there was still the cream that housewives needed for cooking and baking.

Ahnapee Record, and later the Algoma newspapers, carried ads for cream separators. When in 1895 Laval advertised theirs, the company said such a purchase would pay for itself in less than a year. Ten years later, Montgomery Ward & Co. sold Hawthorn separators from 36 to 51 dollars.  Price difference reflected in the amount of milk processed per hour.

Although the separators were touted as money makers, the Farm Sentinel* seemed to feel farmers were dragging their feet in such purchasing. The publication mentioned the “lord of the household” saying he’d never put $75 or 100 into a separator. Then the Sentinel brought up self-binders that cost at least $125 and were used only 3-4 days a year while a separator would be used all 365 days. Farm Sentinel encouraged being progressive and said farmers needed new methods.

By 1906, Wisconsin Dairy Farms Co. was telling farmers to save all their cream. The company said cream meant cash, and said their product was easy to use because all working parts were enclosed. Separators became so lucrative that small town Algoma had its own agent, D.H. Beckwith, a fellow who also procured cream for the Sturgeon Bay creamery.

Their separator, they said, got more cream than any other separator and thus was a big money maker.

Debates continued and as late as 1916, farm publications were still touting the money making-money saving cream separators that would save $5-10 a cow per year while decreasing labor in a herd numbering 5 or 6 cows. Best of all, proper care meant a separator would last at least 10 years.

Algoma housewives were targeted in Algoma Produce ads when the company touted its easy clean bowls with pictures of the little woman easily taking care of work once called a “woman killer.” Advertising was directed toward the farmer because men controlled the purse, however women were depicted in the ads because it was generally women who did the milking.**

When the new cheese factory was built at Alaska in 1925, the Record Herald carried an article describing the modern, new plant. A cream separator had a place in the 42 x 33’ cheese making room which also held three vats, two large double presses and churn.

The bulk of cream separating ads appeared regularly for about 25 years as technology continued to evolve. By the 1940s, there were still ads mentioning separators, but some of the ads were for auction sales.

As the county and the country moved away from small family dairy farms and the cheese factories that once dotted the landscape, mega dairy farms appeared. Today's U.S. cheese factories are owned by fewer than a dozen corporate entities. Modern technology enables greater butterfat control via high speed centrifuges. As for DeLaval, it has been well over 100 years since Carl Gustave de Laval introduced his separator. The company remains as a leader.

You can duplicate those State Fair cream puffs. It isn't as hard as you might think. You've got the flour, butter and eggs. All it takes is cream. Forget the cream separator: the cream is in a carton in the diary case at your favorite grocery store. You can make a batch of cream puffs faster than grandma could separate the cream!

*Farmers’ Sentinel was a small Milwaukee-based newspaper geared toward the farming community. During 1906, the paper was offering a trial 6-month subscription for 25 cents (for the total period).

**Most of Kewaunee County’s immigrant cultures saw milking cows as a woman’s job, one that was beneath the dignity of a man.

Sources: Ahnapee Record, Algoma Record, Algma Herald, Algoma Record Herald, Here Comes the Mail: Post Offices of Kewaunee County, Kewaunee County Century Farms.

Kewaunee County & Dandelions: Salads, Hot Bacon Dressing, Wine & More

Homeowners and landscape services alike are busy eradicating what the southern cousins call “little yellow flowers.” It isn’t the yellow flowering dandelions that are so bad, it’s when they go to seed. The whitish puffs make lawns look unkept and unruly, which means extra mowing. And when the seeds blow hither and yon, the process repeats itself.

Dandelions are pesky, right? Well, our grandparents and great-grandparents didn’t think so. As the snow melted to show signs of dandelions, Grandma began to salivate. Things are far different today and with all the chemical sprays, eating dandelions would be foolhardy.

Before - and for a long time after - 1900, there was no central heating as we know today. Cast iron wood stoves kept homes heated in winter. In an effort to insulate and keep floors warmer, our ancestors banked hay along the home’s foundation and then held the hay in place with boards. At winter’s end, the most tender dandelion shoots began  poking out from beneath the boards. Rather than deep green, the leaves were pale, often bordering on white. Grandma’s family eagerly awaited the delicious spring salads, wilted with scrumptious hot bacon dressing.

Kewaunee County seniors remember the old Machuts’, which became Gib’s on the Lake south of Kewaunee, Happy’s, which became The Cork in Kewaunee, the Stebbins’ Hotel, Alaska Golf Course dining room and Northbrook as a few of the restaurants serving the popular home-made hot bacon dressing. Although the ingredients were about the same, that dressing was different than Great-grandma’s. Her bacon came from a real pig, a fat porker – an old-fashioned pig. Today’s pigs are bred to be taller, slimmer, and leaner, without the high fat content of 100 years ago. Today’s pork is far healthier than pigs Great-grandpa raised, but Grandpa always remembered eating pork when “pork was pork.”

Tender dandelion greens were saved for salad, while the less tender were used for healthful spring teas. Even the roots were roasted and used for body-cleansing teas. Roasted root teas were “coffeeish” in color and sometimes used as coffee substitutes.

Then there was Great-grandpa’s dandelion wine. It took about a gallon of big, beautiful dandelion flowers to make about a gallon of wine, which had little alcohol in it. The sweet wine was much like today’s white wines and quite popular with women, many of whom thought the wine had its own properties as a tonic.

It wasn’t only dandelions that brought a gleam to our ancestors’ eyes. So did wild caraway later in the summer. Caraway was a basis for kimmel/kummel, something kids were not allowed to taste even though it looked like fun. We knew kimmel made Grandpa and the uncles move around like they were playing too much Ring-Around-the Rosie, a children’s game that actually  was a reference to the black plague.

Dandelion wine must have been in short supply when Algoma Record editor Elliott wrote in October 1907  that his paper could not survive on “wind, pudding and dandelion wine.” At issue was advertising that had seemingly dropped off. Elliott felt that a city of about 2,500 should not have to look elsewhere to fill its ad space. A few years later Algoma Record Herald suggested dandelion wine and kimmel as Christmas gifts, and in December 1957, Algoma Public Library was touting Ray Bradbury’s new book, Dandelion Wine, a novel set in the summer of 1928 and based on Bradbury’s youth in Waukegan, Illinois

Kewaunee County Agent Maurice Hoveland had a little fun in June 1954 when he wrote a Letter to the Editor to Harry Heidmann of Algoma Record Herald. Hoveland wrote following Heidmann’s editorial concerning dandelions, which, Hoveland felt, Heidmann failed to appreciate. Hoveland said the little yellow flowers were spring’s first. He said dandelions’ color beautifies the lawn while delaying the grass, thus putting off mowing for a few weeks. He went on to say that children had such fun pulling out matured dandelion heads and blowing seeds to the winds, thus ensuring more dandelions in years to come. Hoveland said he felt Heidmann never experienced the mellow flavor of dandelion wine and that he should remember such points in 1954 when he began to blame dandelions for coming on to the lawns.

A few years later, the Record Herald’s humorist harkened back to the days when those little yellow flowers were not looked at as pesky, but rather the most important ingredient in a keg of dandelion wine. By 1959, it was only the elders who longed for the first greens of the season dressed with real hot bacon dressing that came from pigs that were real pigs!

Homeowners and lawn services continue to get rid of those pesky little yellow flowers just in time for Mother’s Day, a day when so many moms remember the joy in the faces of the little ones giving her a dandelion bouquet, smiling and happily saying, “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Sources: Algoma Record, Algoma Record Herald.