We called our refrigerator the “horse tank.” It had been a long time since any horses had come to drink. The tank was a 6 foot long by 3 foot wide wooden box connected to the well by a metal pipe. Fresh cold water was always flowing in whenever the pump was working. Grandma used to send me to get milk, cream, or butter from the refrigerator aka horse tank. I remember reaching way to the bottom and coming up with nearly frozen fingers and forearm, gripping one of the requested items. It felt good, especially on hot summer days. This cold storage storehouse also held treasures: soda pops and bottles of beer to be offered to anyone who happened by at “break times” from the fields. This was the same tank where my grandfather rescued the big white tomcat I was intent on drowning after I caught him snatching the last of my pet rabbits out of the box I had made for them in the barn.