It’s homecoming week at my son’s local high school. Drive past the campus and you’ll see it everywhere: orange and black streamers wrapped around light poles, hand-painted banners stretched across hallways, students decked out head-to-toe in school colors. The parking lot is a sea of face paint and matching t-shirts. The energy is electric.
For one week, it doesn’t matter if you’re a senior or a freshman, a star athlete or not, or what kind of home you live in. You’re all wearing the same colors. You’re all cheering for the same team. The pride is shared, the purpose is unified and for those few days, the differences that normally divide you simply disappear.
Friday night arrives. The stands are packed. The band plays. The crowd roars as one voice. In that moment, everyone belongs.
Then Monday comes. The decorations come down. The uniforms go back in the closet. And somehow, slowly, the unity fades. The cliques reform. The divisions return. The same students who stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the bleachers now barely acknowledge each other in the hallway.
And you have to wonder: Why? Why does the spirit that felt so real, so powerful, so right during homecoming week evaporate the moment the game is over?
The Dairy Industry’s Homecoming Problem
If you’ve spent any time in dairy circles — whether at a county farm bureau meeting, on social media, or just talking with neighbors at the co-op — you’ve seen the same pattern play out.
We should all be wearing the same colors. We’re all dairy farmers. We’re all facing the same volatile milk prices, regulatory pressures, consumer misconceptions, labor challenges, same weather uncertainties. We’re all getting up before dawn to take care of animals that depend on us 365 days a year. We’re all trying to make a living doing something we love while the world around us changes faster than we can keep up.
We should be standing shoulder-to-shoulder in those bleachers, cheering for the same team.
But instead, we’re divided.
The conventional milking parlor operators look sideways at the robot farms. The small family dairies resent the large operations. The Holstein purists question the crossbreeding advocates. The organic producers and conventional farmers eye each other with suspicion. The farmers who process their own milk question those who ship to a co-op, who in turn look down on those contracted with private processors.
We’ve turned our own teammates into opponents. And the craziest part? Our worst enemies are often the ones who should be wearing the same colors.
The Size Divide That Shouldn’t Exist
Let’s start with the elephant in the barn: farm size.
Somewhere along the way, we decided that the number of cows you milk determines your worth as a dairy farmer. If you’re milking 50 cows, you’re “too small to survive” and “holding back progress.” If you’re milking 5,000, you’re a “factory farm” that’s “ruining it for the rest of us.”
But here’s the truth: The size of your dairy farm should never be a dividing factor.
The 50-cow farm in Vermont where three generations work side-by-side, where every cow has a name, where the kids do homework in the milk house — that’s dairy.
The 5,000-cow operation in Idaho that genomic tests every calf and has a full-time nutritionist on staff — that’s dairy, too.
The 500-cow farm in Wisconsin that just added a double-24 parallel parlor and is trying to figure out how to bring the next generation back — that’s also dairy.
They’re all dairy. They’re all valid. They’re all essential.
The Vermont farm is preserving rural communities and maintaining the agricultural heritage that defines the region. The Idaho operation is feeding thousands of families with the efficiency and scale that modern food systems require. The Wisconsin farm is navigating the middle ground, trying to stay viable in a consolidating industry while maintaining the family farm model.
We need all of them.
Yet we spend more time criticizing each other’s choices than defending our collective right to make those choices in the first place.
The Technology Divide We Created
Walk into a dairy discussion about milking systems and watch what happens.
The robot advocates talk about labor efficiency, cow comfort and data-driven management. The conventional parlor operators counter with proven reliability, lower capital costs and the value of human observation. Both sides have valid points. Both systems work. Both produce high-quality milk.
But instead of celebrating that U.S. dairy farmers have choices — that you can select the system that fits your farm, your management style, your labor situation, your financial capacity — we’ve turned it into a competition.
Meanwhile, the consumer who doesn’t understand dairy farming hears this infighting and thinks, “If they can’t even agree on how to milk cows, how can I trust any of them?”
We’re handing ammunition to people who already doubt us.
Here’s what we should be saying instead: “U.S. dairy gives you options. You can milk robotically if that fits your operation. You can milk in a conventional parlor if that’s what works for you. Both systems, when managed well, produce safe, high-quality milk. That’s the beauty of U.S. agriculture — innovation and tradition can coexist.”
But we don’t say that. We fight about it instead.
The Breed Wars Nobody Wins
Then there’s the genetics debate.
Holsteins versus Jerseys versus crossbreeds versus beef-on-dairy. It’s become another fault line in an already fractured industry.
The Holstein purists argue for production efficiency, proven genetics and the breed that built U.S. dairy. The Jersey advocates counter with component percentages, feed efficiency and profitability per cow. The crossbreeding proponents point to hybrid vigor, fertility improvements and reduced health costs. The beef-on-dairy adopters are adding upwards of $5 per hundredweight to their revenue while the critics raise their noses.
They’re all right. And they’re all wrong.
Because the correct answer isn’t “Holstein” or “Jersey” or “crossbred.” The correct answer is “whatever works for your farm, your market, your management style and your goals.”
A high-production Holstein herd optimized for component pricing in a Class III market? That works.
A Jersey herd maximizing pounds of butterfat and protein per pound of feed consumed? That works too.
A crossbreeding program improving fertility and longevity while maintaining production? Also works.
A strategic beef-on-dairy program using genomics to identify elite dairy replacements while monetizing the rest? Working beautifully for thousands of farms.
There is no cookie-cutter formula for success in dairy. And that’s not a weakness — it’s a strength. It means U.S. dairy farmers can adapt to their unique circumstances, can innovate within their own operations, can find the path that works for them.
But instead of celebrating that diversity, we use it as a weapon against each other.
When Did We Forget We’re on the Same Team?
Here’s what breaks my heart: While we’re busy fighting each other over farm size, milking systems, genetics and more, the real threats to dairy farming are organizing against all of us.
The animal rights activists don’t care if you milk 50 cows or 5,000. They want to end dairy farming entirely.
And while we’re divided, we’re vulnerable.
Imagine if we approached these challenges the way that high school approaches homecoming week. Imagine if we decided that for one week — heck, for one day — we were all going to wear the same colors.
Imagine if the 50-cow Vermont farm and the 5,000-cow Idaho operation stood side-by-side and said, “We’re both dairy farmers. We make different choices, but we share the same commitment to animal care, milk quality and feeding families. Attack one of us, you attack all of us.”
Imagine if the robot farmers and the parlor operators said, “We use different technology, but we’re all producing safe, nutritious milk. The method doesn’t matter — the outcome does.”
Imagine if the Holstein breeders and the crossbreeding advocates said, “We’re taking different genetic paths to the same destination: healthy, productive cows that thrive in our care. There’s room for all approaches.”
Imagine if every dairy farmer, regardless of size, system, breed, or marketing channel, stood in those bleachers together and cheered for the same team.
We’d be unstoppable.
The Homecoming Spirit We Need
I’m not naive. I know that competition exists. I know that large farms and small farms are competing for the same milk markets. I know that different production models have different cost structures. I know that co-ops and private processors are competing for milk supply.
Competition isn’t the problem. Competition drives innovation, efficiency and progress.
The problem is when competition turns into contempt.
The problem is when we stop seeing other dairy farmers as colleagues and start seeing them as enemies. The problem is when we spend more energy tearing each other down than building each other up. The problem is when we forget that the person milking cows differently than we do is still milking cows — still part of the same industry, still facing the same challenges, still deserving of respect.
High school homecoming works because for one week, everyone agrees that being part of the school matters more than the differences that usually divide them. The football player and the band member are both essential to Friday night. The cheerleader and the person selling popcorn in the concession stand are both contributing to the experience. The freshman and the senior are both part of the same community.
They’re all wearing the same colors.
Dairy farming needs that same spirit. Not for one week, but permanently.
We need to reach a point where:
- A 50-cow farm and a 5,000-cow farm can both say “we’re dairy farmers” with equal pride
- A robot operator and a parlor operator can both say “we’re producing quality milk” without judgment
- A Holstein breeder and a crossbreeding advocate can both say “we’re improving our herds” and respect each other’s path
- An on-farm processor and a co-op member can both say “we’re getting our milk to market” and recognize the validity of different business models
We need to reach a point where our first instinct when we meet another dairy farmer isn’t to judge their choices, but to recognize our shared commitment.
The Colors We Should All Wear
So what are dairy’s colors? What’s the equivalent of those orange and black streamers, that school pride, that homecoming unity?
It’s simpler than you think:
We all get up before dawn. We all put animal welfare first. We all produce safe, nutritious food. We all face uncertain markets and weather we can’t control. We all love what we do despite how hard it is. We all want the next generation to have the opportunity to farm if they choose.
Those are our colors. Those are the things that unite us.
The size of your dairy, the technology in your barn, the breed in your stalls, the name on your milk check — those are just different uniforms. Different positions on the field. Different roles in the band.
But we’re all on the same team.
The Choice We Make Every Day
Every day, we make a choice.
We can choose to see other dairy farmers as competition to be defeated, as threats to our way of life, as problems to be solved.
Or we can choose to see them as teammates. As colleagues. As fellow travelers on the same difficult, rewarding, frustrating, fulfilling journey.
We can choose to criticize the farm that does things differently than we do.
Or we can choose to defend their right to make different choices — and ask them to defend ours in return.
We can choose to fight each other over the scraps.
Or we can choose to stand together and demand a seat at the table.
High school homecoming proves that unity is possible. For one week, hundreds of teenagers with different backgrounds, different interests, different social circles and different futures all come together under the same colors. They prove that what unites us can be stronger than what divides us.
If teenagers can figure that out for a football game, surely dairy farmers can figure it out for an entire industry.
Friday Night in the Dairy Industry
So here’s my question: What would it look like if dairy farming had a homecoming week?
What if for one week, we all agreed to:
- Celebrate every dairy farm still in business, regardless of size
- Respect every production model that produces quality milk and cares for animals
- Acknowledge that there are multiple paths to success in dairy
- Defend our fellow dairy farmers when they’re attacked, even if we’d make different choices
- Focus on what unites us rather than what divides us
What if we extended that week into a month? Into a year? Into a permanent mindset?
What if we decided that we’re all wearing the same colors — and started acting like it?
The stands are full. The lights are on. The game is underway.
The question is: Are we going to spend the game fighting with our own teammates in the bleachers?
Or are we going to stand together, wear our colors with pride and cheer for the same team?
Because here’s the truth that every high school student figures out by the time they graduate: The homecoming game is more fun when everyone’s on the same side.
And dairy farming — this difficult, demanding, deeply rewarding way of life — is a lot more sustainable when we remember that we’re all on the same team.
So let’s wear our colors. Let’s stand in those bleachers together. Let’s cheer for every dairy farmer still milking cows, regardless of how they’re doing it.
Let’s bring the homecoming spirit to dairy farming.
Because the size or location of our dairy farms should never be a dividing factor. The technology we use, the genetics we select, the markets we serve — none of that should separate us.
We’re all dairy farmers. That’s the only color that matters.
And it’s time we started acting like it.
