(Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today) 

While browsing through an antique store recently, a brightly colored tin caught my eye.  Its bright pattern of red, yellow and black made it standout from the other antique product tins on display.

I picked it up.  It was heavy, as if something was inside.  I pulled the lid off and there inside was a slimy yellow-red substance that smelled something awful.

I couldn’t help but smile.  I had found a genuine tin of cow salve.

Whatever happened to cow salve?  If you become sick or are injured, there’s never been a better time than today.  There’s an amazing array of medical products out there designed to treat just about any malady.  But sometimes it seems that medical science has taken us too far.

What happened to the all-purpose cure-alls that used to lurk in every medicine cabinet?

As a young farm boy I suffered through a variety of bumps, bruised, sprains, scrapes, rashes, pimples, boils, punctures, pinches and burns.  They were no worse than those suffered by boys of that age.

Parents 20 years ago seemed less prone to rush their children to the doctor than parents of today.  My parents relied on three tried -and-true curatives: black salve, udder cream and cow salve.

Black salve’s appearance lived up to its name.  Its curative powers were as potent as its odor.  A liberal amount smeared on an inflamed pimple, boil, cut or splinter “drew the infection out,” according to my mother.  An application of black salve quickly reduced inflammation and swelling.  Infections seldom lingered long after a treatment.

Udder cream was a pasty, blue salve designed to keep cows’ teats and udders soft and supple.  It could easily do the same for chapped hands and other irritated skin.  The label read,” Not intended for human use.”  What would my dermatologist say?

Cow salve was the most mysterious of these remedies.  The slave was in a red can so caked with dust that the label was no longer readable.  The can rested on a ceiling beam in the barn, nestled between two haymow floor joists.

On these rare occasions when a trip to the house to visit “Dr. Mom.” Was impossible or impractical, Dad would reach up and pull down the can of cow salve.  The stuff smelled foul and looked worse.  It was reddish yellow and greasy.  A wound treated with cow salve could repel water for days.  It seemed to work best for burns and bad scrapes.

The smelly can in the antique store reminded me how effective these mysterious medicines could be when they are applied with a little love.  Did I buy the cow salve from the antique store?  No.  I thought the price was a little steep.  Besides, if I ever really need any, I know exactly which ceiling bean to look on.