Milkwalker knows where you live

I drank from a lot of milk cartons during my K-12 school days in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Florida (maybe that's why I've never had a broken bone). But I never came across anything as creepy as Milkwalker. 

Indeed, Milkwalker is real. Or, at least, the milk-carton public service campaign by Darigold that featured Milkwalker was real. When I first came across Milkwalker in one of my social media feeds, I figured it was too good to be true. It had to be a clever fake, because it looks too much like something that someone would invent as Slenderman's weird cousin. 

But Know Your Meme has the lowdown:

"Milkwalker, an anthropomorphic milk carton, was originally created by Seattle-based dairy and agricultural co-op Darigold, Inc. [in the mid 1980s] as the mascot of the company and a public service announcement character that encourages children to remember their full name, address and telephone number in case of emergencies. On November 28th, 2016, over three decades after its introduction, various images of the obscure mascot began circulating online after it was highlighted by the Tumblr blog Heck-Yeah-Old-Tech."

I even found this short article in the June 5, 1985, edition of the Whidbey News-Times of Oak Harbor, Washington (click to embiggen):

Some folks embrace Milkwalker and reject the creepypasta angle of it being just another thing to fear. In a Facebook comment in August 2024, Holly Gee wrote: "Yes, the milkwalker definitely looks like a spooky cryptid, but I like the idea of him being a force for good, protecting the innocent by milkwalking all over the wicked from the shadows. He's terrifying, but terrifies only the deserving."

But while Milkwalker seemingly originated with Darigold in the 1980s, how long has it actually been around? Is it, perhaps, ancient? I'll leave you with this curious excerpt from the March 24, 1876, edition of The Stockport Advertiser in Stockport, England. Interpret it as you wish: 

Saturday's postcard: Mountainhome, Pennsylvania (1909)

Today's postcard, mailed in August 1909, features the sprawling Woodlawn House in Mountainhome, a census-designated place in Monroe County, Pennsylvania. You could fit a lot of John-Boys and Mary Ellens in that house. 

According to the Monroe County Historical Association, the three largest villages in Barrett Township "are Canadensis (named for the scientific name for the hemlock tree, Tsugas canadensis), Cresco (once known as Oakland), and Mountainhome (once known as White’s Tannery)."

Woodlawn House advertised aggressively in the Brooklyn (New York) Eagle in 1913 (and probably in other newspapers). The advertisement read: "WOODLAWN HOUSE, Mountain Home, Pa. High elevation. Acc. 25. Trout fishing; 1 mile from sta. Mrs. M.A. Cooper, Prop."

An earlier advertisement touted Woodlawn's farm eggs and milk. I couldn't find any evidence of Woodlawn House still standing today. If you have information, please leave it in the comments! 

This postcard was mailed in 1909 to Mrs. Paul Clemons at the Clemons Silk Mill in Scranton, Pennsylvania. The short cursive message states:

dear Mrs Clemens

we arrived hear [sic] safe hope you are well as it leaves me at present

with love from 

Mrs Rouch [or Roach]

The silk mill made the national news in 1913. The Philadelphia Inquirer reported that on March 25, "a fierce storm that acted every whit like a Western tornado swept over Scranton and vicinity. ... The Clemons Silk Mill, owned by D.G. Derry, of Catasauqua, was unroofed and a 150-foot section of the roof was deposited on the adjacent engine room, partially demolishing the structure. There were 150 girls at work, but outside of bruises and scratches they were uninjured."

This postcard was published by Fred D. Mick of Mountainhome and made in Germany.

Phantom has a new home & I've named a skunk Pinky

Our Household Cat Inventory was reduced by one yesterday when Phantom (above) went to live with a very nice area man who was looking for a sweet companion cat. It should be a perfect fit. Phantom loves getting lots of attention from humans, but tended to get bullied by some of the other cats, especially her brother (half-brother?) Bandit.

Phantom got to take her favorite bed with her (plus toys and treats) to her new forever home and got herself all set for the short road trip before it was even time to leave. 

She's a good girl and I'll miss her. She was part of Orange's litter that was born in our house on June 28, 2022. Growing up, she and her sister Pengin lived in Spokane for awhile before rejoining our family here. (That might be why she was bullied. And/or I suspect that she and Pengin – who also got picked on – were seen as "different" because they possibly have a different father than their litter mates.¹ Though probably the same grandfather. It's complicated.)

Meanwhile, our "baby" skunks that I mentioned exactly one month ago are continuing to thrive. They aren't really babies anymore. Definitely juveniles. There are four of them, and we still have some nights when all four visit. But more typically it's just a couple of them, including the one who is somewhat tame and fond of me. Going against Wildlife Wisdom, I did pet this skunk gently a few times while it was occupied with eating. But I will be smart moving forward and fully cease this practice. It's a bad example, it can make the skunk too tame (endangering it in other situations) and, most importantly, rabies is bad, bad news.

Still, I figure it's OK to name this skunk. I went with Pinky, because I've started to distinguish the different markings on their backs. One has a big black stripe in the middle of the white on the back. One has two small black spots in the middle of the white. And Pinky has an all-white back except for a tiny bare spot where his/her pink skin shows through. Thus, Pinky. Is good skunk.

Footnote

1. Today's Word of the Day, kiddos, is superfecundation.