I remember when my parents sold the cows - my mother breathed a bit deeper, while my father tried to find his purpose. My mother’s health had declined and an opportunity to sell the herd arose when my father’s bid to the Cooperative Working Together (CWT) whole herd buyout was accepted. One fall day in 2005, a semi-truck arrived, and the remaining mature cows at Pleasant Ridge Dairy left all at once.
I called my mom a week later; I asked if she missed the cows. Without hesitation, she said heck no. Later I realized that was a defense mechanism to cope with a changing life that is hard to plan for. Especially when dairy is a 24/7, 365-day commitment.
I think what saved my father when his life was turned upside down overnight was finding a purpose to wake up each morning and get out of bed. For him, it was still having a cup of coffee and then immediately going outside to do chores. My parents no longer had cows that required to be milked twice a day, but they did have a small herd of beef cattle. Feeding hay, irrigating pastures, calving cows—it brought my dad joy and gave him a sense of purpose.
I remember writing a social media post quite a few years ago about finding your identity after the cows leave and I received some raft from fellow dairy producers.
“I’ll always identify as a dairyman,” one person said.
I totally get that, I’m sure my father always identified as a dairyman, too.
My point was to find something to get you out of bed if the cows leave. Maybe you’ll be like my late father, Bob Davidson, and have a small herd of beef cattle. Maybe, you’ll raise some dairy heifers for your neighbor. Or maybe you’ll spend all your free time volunteering and helping raise your grandchildren. Whatever you do, find something that gives you some pep in your step and find something that makes you feel alive without the nonstop worry of what being a dairy producer comes with.
And, if you’re like my late mother and share with me that you won’t miss the cows, I might say, I’m sure you won’t miss when the cows get out late at night or when the manure spreader breaks down with a full load on and when the milk check won’t cover the bills. But, my guess is you will miss all those great memories that helped you raise a family.
I remember calling my mom and telling her that my oldest son, Tyler, who was 6 years old at the time, had bedded all the calf hutches. I could feel her pride beaming through the phone waves. She mailed Tyler a card, along with $10, saying she was sure he was much better at bedding calf hutches than his mother was.
Mom smiled when the kids would show at the fairs and ride along with the tractor with field work. She didn’t miss the cows and the headaches, but gosh darn it, she did miss all those memories that threaded our family together.
And, let me say, I know all too well that dairy producers will always identify as a dairy producer, even after the cows are long gone.
