At two o'clock Thursday morning our alarm began to ring. Normally we hit the snooze button and avoid thinking about the hectic day for another ten minutes. This was no ordinary alarm and its exciting purpose drug us both out of bed. We descended the stairs in a sleepy fog and turned on a single light with the dimmer low. Then, we huddled around a little device that maintains a constant temperature, a temperature perfect for making yogurt.
The clear dome was covered in humidity. When we lifted it the slightest puff of warmer, moist air escaped into the room. Underneath the lid we discovered six little containers of yogurt where six little containers of raw milk had been before. The smell of vanilla was intoxicating but it was not time to eat these little treasures yet.
We stowed them away in the refrigerator and crept back up to bed. As we settled in, our dreams drifted away with the anticipation of vanilla, maple yogurt.
We woke up late. I had to leave for work without a proper breakfast. We kissed goodbye. Kristin handed me a lunch bag and a convenient little container filled with vanilla, maple joy. When I got to work I took a few moments to savor the yogurt. It was creamy but not thick. It had just a hint of maple yet seemed to carry a sweetness all it's own. Yum-O!! As I licked the spoon I realized that I had never appreciated a container of yogurt as much as this one. It made me think of my wife and how much I appreciate all of her talents and love of good food. I will have yogurt again. I may even have better yogurt, though I doubt it. I will never appreciate a cup as much as I did Kristin's first batch of vanilla, maple raw milk yogurt.
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