There was still industry mixed into the suburbs. The organic genesis of the town in mid-century saw sandwich shops and school children pop up next to concrete manufacturers. I was a photographer in high school. At that time, most of the industries were in their deterioration phases, not fully disintegrated yet. There was still a video store, although it was languishing on last analog legs. What was left of the dairy was a two-story factory building without much glass left in the windows. Loading docks in the back were missing doors. Inside, remnants of conveyor machinery, abandoned milk crates. A typical rust belt place for teenagers. At that time, I was not creative or observant enough to imagine how the place at work or put it in words. The milk of unseen cows, uddering its way mechanically into plastic jugs while I was still in elementary school, shuttling down the belts in the plastic milk crates. They used glass bottles before; my father lived in the same neighborhood while he was in high school. This is a memory without story. A friend and I shot sophomoric photographs and carried around skateboards. Somewhere, cows must rejoice that there is no more Borden’s Boardman Dairy.