It’s a big month for us in the dairy world. Happy June Dairy Month to those who celebrate. It seems appropriate to celebrate the work of all those who care for cows 365 days a year and turn grasses and corn into delicious cheese and ice cream.

This was a particularly challenging week on the dairy as Mrs. Faber pointed out that I had three pairs of good “going to town” shoes on the front steps that are now covered in cow poop. This last pair had a relatively long life of six months being free of the remnants of a TMR ration after it had been properly digested and converted into milk. However, we had a cow that was doing the splits, and rather than run to the pickup, I chose to step in the midst of 3 inches of cow poop with sneakers that only had a 1-inch sole. This unfortunate footwear firmly absorbed most of the refuse and permanently attracted a smell that would give legitimacy to my public celebration of June being Dairy Month, but wouldn’t attract any more friends or appreciation to the celebratory month. 

I did, however, remind my wife that the economic burden of blurring the line between public and farm footwear was not all that substantial. You see, as a middle-aged balding male with three children, I have unequivocally given up on all things mainstream fashion and make my footwear purchases based entirely on what Walmart's finest offerings for the day are. I am the fellow at the gym who is never looked at twice by any of the female gender, as I usually rock the knee-high black socks, Walmart sneakers, gym shorts from high school and a white T-shirt with several farm-acquired stains. I have affectionately been identified as the farmer at the gym; however, I have never even let anyone know my chosen occupation.

I’m also happy to report that the next high-risk “going to town” sneakers were only $14.99 at Walmart. Which, given our current tariff war, still seemed to be somewhat reasonable.

It was interesting to me that the theme of the day for young people a few years ago was to tear down any statue associated with anyone tied to the stain of slavery in this country. Yet, we as society don’t think twice about substandard and underage manufacturing of our iPhones or throw-away shoes.

This frustration on the part of my better half is not only resigned to my treatment of footwear, as she bemoans having to get digested TMR splatter out of my good jeans or shirts. Pointing out that ripped and stained jeans were actually a fashion trend for a brief while does little to assuage her frustration – and has led to her hiding more of my clothes and only laying them out when we have social functions that demand a higher level of public perception.

So as you all celebrate this special month of June with its grilled cheese and ice cream, I hope that you too will go out and proudly wear your authentic dairy farm clothing. Let’s try to normalize this fashion a little more so I can seek to evade a little more of the wrath of Mrs. Faber.