In the dairy world, we often talk about legacy as something passed down through generations. But at our farm, the legacy started with two brothers in elementary school and a 4-H project that simply refused to stop growing.
It is a rare story in today’s landscape: a first-generation dairy in East Moline, Ill. My husband, Scott, and his brother were the youngest members of their co-op, receiving milk checks before they were old enough to drive the trucks hauling the product. What I’ve always called a “4-H project gone wild” has matured into an operation milking 750 cows and managing 1,800 acres.
Our three children didn’t just watch this growth from the sidelines; they were the helping hands behind it. They vaccinated calves, raked stalls, scraped barns and hauled silage wagons. They saw the farm on its very best days — when the sun caught the morning dew on a perfect stand of alfalfa — and on its absolute worst — watching the orange glow of our heifer barn in a blaze, learning early that a farmer’s resolve is forged in the moments when Mother Nature and misfortune seem determined to break it.
Very soon we will hit a major milestone. Our oldest son, Tyler will graduate from the University of Wisconsin—Platteville with a degree in dairy science. His goal has always been clear: return to the family farm.
On many farms, this transition happens over a cup of coffee and a scribbled note on a napkin. It’s a casual “Glad to have you back” followed by a vague promise of “We’ll figure it out.” But as a first-generation farm that built everything from the ground up, we knew that wouldn’t suffice for the next chapter.
Well before graduation, Tyler was already taking the lead on our genomics program and herd health. He wasn’t just a laborer; he was a specialist. So, instead of a casual kitchen table conversation, we sat down and presented him with a formal offer letter.
This document wasn’t just about the paycheck. It was a professional road map that highlighted his specific job responsibilities and vacation days.
It is incredibly easy to overlook the business side of family business. Because they are our children, we assume they know they are valued. We assume the expectations are understood. But by providing a formal offer, we changed the dynamic from “son helping out” to “professional partner.”
Treating the transition as a business transaction doesn’t diminish the family bond — it strengthens it. It gives the next generation a sense of worth and a clear understanding of their role in the farm’s future. It signals that we aren’t just passing down a job; we are inviting them to help lead a family-owned and operated company.
As we look toward the future, we realize that while they will always be family, treating them like a business asset makes them feel more valuable out of the gate. In a first-generation story like ours, that professional respect is the bridge that ensures the 4-H project-like story continues for generations to come.
