In my early Coryville childhood I could watch, every morning, the teams of horses coming down the road in front of our house on their way to deliver cans of milk to the cheese factory. In the winter the wagons were replaced by sleighs and riders were always welcome. I could ride over town, watch them dump their big milk cans in a vat, and then ride home. At the cheese factory we could eat curds, as much as we wanted. Once I hooked my sled behind a sleigh, but my father soon discouraged that. Too dangerous, he thought. The cheese was a rich cheddar , like the currently available "Shinglehouse Cheese" or "Cuba Cheese." If it had a specific name I never learned it.

The store and post office were across the road from the cheese factory and directly across the main road from the church. Here almost everyone in town met at some time; there was an ongoing, continual interchange of news, gossip, opinion, and good humor. the mail came on the trains, several times a day, then was wheeled in bags on a cart to the post office where it was sorted while people waited. There were benches in front of the store for those who wanted to sit and, as I recall, someone was sitting there most of the time.

another excerpt from Fritz E. Guenter