We quit dairying at the end of May 1998. Although it has been more than 25 years, in many ways it still feels like a few years ago. I still wake up occasionally from a dream where the cow bunk has been empty for more than a couple of hours, and I need to rush to get the TMR made. My pulse is usually quickened, until I awake long enough to realize the cows have long been gone and the barns are empty.
The decision to discontinue dairying was actually made in 1995, based on knowing that to survive, more cows would be required than what a 50-cow dairy could provide in net income. This would mean major capital purchases and debt, as the barns, parlor and silos were designed for a maximum of 60 cows. I knew practically this was not achievable … not necessarily because of debt to take on, but rather our farm’s proximity to the city limits of our town. Dad and I decided to downsize by natural attrition; as cows were culled, they were not replaced. We raised the heifers born of the existing cows and sold them to a neighbor as springers.
In the fall of 1997, I climbed our 20'x70' silo to adjust the chipper wheel and grease the unloader. In the midst of doing this maintenance, I happened to look up at the silo chute door and Dad was standing in the chute, watching me but not saying a word. I wondered why he was standing there because of the physical effort required at his age to climb 70 feet straight up, as he could have just yelled up the chute to see if things were OK. He said he just wanted to see what I was doing. I suppose in his heart he knew that was going to be the last time that silo would ever be used, and he wanted the memory of it.
I still remember the last day of milking the final 10 cows (milk barely reached the tank agitator paddle). It was such a sunny day for such a sad time. As those final 10 cows were loaded on the trailer, Dad teared up. This was unusual for him, as the only other time I saw this in my life was when Mom passed away from cancer five years previous. I said to Dad, “Things will be OK,” as I was developing an animal nutrition consulting practice that I had begun in 1993 and was gaining clients. Dad was 75 years old in 1998 and I was in my early 30s. It was time for him to relax to enjoy his remaining years.
My nutrition practice was put to first use within our own herd, as I purchased software in 1987 and updated it as further nutrition research for TMR feeding was being published. Dad gave me two rules to follow in turning our dairy into a “research” farm. We had to have enough cash flow to keep all bills paid (as we always had) and to keep the cull rate under 35%. Everything was changeable on the farm, as long as those two rules weren’t violated. We achieved a 23,000-pound average on 2X milking in the early 1990s, which ranked us as one of the top 100 herds in Ohio at that time.
In the course of further expanding my nutrition practice (after the cows were gone), I came into contact with different commodity marketers for feed ingredients. In the development of one of those relationships, I was offered an ingredient merchandising position with Commodity Specialists Company, which is now part of JD Heiskell. I took that position and have marketed feed ingredients for nearly 25 years for them through the many trials of dairy economics. In looking back, I wouldn’t have thought it at the time of the spider-webbing that combining what you know (knowledge), who you know (relationships) and when you know it (timing) could have had such a trifold effect on creating success. Cows truly have been good to me even though the barns are empty.
If you have read this story to this point, you are probably wondering why it is titled “Dad’s Shoes.” I will tell you. Dad passed away in 2003, and like with all personal belongings, some are kept and some are given to charity. I put Dad’s work shoes on a lower shelf for permanent storage in the basement of the farmhouse that we had both lived in. I don’t know why I saved them, but I did. Years passed and I continued my career. I got married later than most, as for too many years I was married to the farm instead of having a wife. In starting my family and living in that farmhouse, our road near town got very busy (which was a previous thought for not expanding the dairy). It was decided in 2014 that with young children, we should move from the old farmhouse.
We didn’t move very far … just a few miles, but packing day came and the basement was the last to sort and pack. My wife handed me Dad’s shoes … hmm … what do I do with them? I knew these were Dad’s last pair of work shoes he used while we still had cows. I took them and cleaned the cobweb and the layered dust from them. They looked old but still in good shape. I wondered … would they fit me … since I remembered my feet were similarly sized as Dad’s. I knew my own last pair of farm work shoes were reaching their life limit. I slowly pulled them on, pushing my feet through the dry, stiff leather. They fit … pretty well.
I knew what to do next, as I knew what Dad had done many times in the past. He greased his work shoes with bacon grease. This helped as a water repellant, softened the leather – and when visiting other farms, barking dogs would soon become friendly, once the sniffing of the shoes took place.
These shoes today are close to 30 years old, and I wear them on weekends for house and yard chores. I reflect on my Dad and the cows we once had in heartfelt and grateful remembrance every time I put these shoes on.
