Le fait de dépendre de forces indépendantes de notre volonté pour vivre de l’agriculture nous enseigne l’humilité. 

It’s currently corn harvest season over here, and I’m contemplating the typical American farmer diet. It seems like the diet of most silage truck drivers is six hours of sleep, the finest offerings from the local gas station deep fryer, a couple Mountain Dews and a pack of lung darts to stave off the boredom.

It was about 10 years ago when our local young cooperators group from Darigold had the opportunity to visit the corporate headquarters of Starbucks.

There is something humbling about depending on forces outside of your control to make a living in farming.

Quand j’étais enfant – à la ferme laitière où je vivais – une phrase en particulier déclenchait en moi une peur viscérale. Cette phrase, lorsqu’elle était criée par la porte, provoquait une cacophonie de cris d’enfants.

Life in the dairy world hasn’t been fun. 

I’m not a hunter. I prefer eating beef; it tastes better and it is a little easier to hunt.

There are a few things that cause a dairy farmer’s heart to jump into their throats: watching someone drop a bottle of Draxxin in slow motion, having your daughter's new boyfriend ask for a beyond meat burger at the family BBQ, and seeing the milk inspector's car come down the driveway.