The virtues of hand-cranked ice cream

    Greetings from the Ridge.
    My little brother would take about three turns of the crank then moan, “Okay, your turn.” I’d tell him that we still had about two hundred cranks to go, but he’d always claim that his arm was on the verge of falling loose from his body. Miraculously, once the ice cream was ready his little arm was healed and he’d scoop the delicious stuff into his mouth. Homemade ice cream was the great healer.

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