Then she gave a sigh and her hand closed over Grandma Dee's butter dish.That's it! she said. I knew there was something I wanted to ask you if I could have.She jumped up from the table and went over in the corner where the churn stood, the milk in it clabber by now. She looked at the churn and looked at it.This churn top is what I need, she said.Didn't Uncle Buddy whittle it out of a tree you all used to have?Yes, I said.Uh huh, she said happily. And I want the dasher,too.Uncle Buddy whittle that, too? asked the barber.Dee (Wangero) looked up at me.Aunt Dee's first husband whittled the dash, said Maggie so low you almost couldn't hear her.His name was Henry, but they called him Stash.Maggie's brain is like an elephants, Wanglero said, laughing.I can use the churn top as a center piece for the alcove table,”she said, sliding a plate over the churn, and I'll think of something artistic to do with the dasher.When she finished wrapping the dasher the handle stuck out.I took it for a moment in my hands. You didn't even have to look close to see where hands pushing the dasher up and down to make butter had left a kind of sink in the wood.
