Your Grampie was a dairy farmer

I just walked over to the barn to fill up our milk pail. I didn't think I'd be this upset that it would be the last time. The cows will be gone soon. Tomorrow maybe. My eyes are filling up with tears.

Why am I getting so worked up about it?

Maybe because our children will never know the smell of fresh manure spread in the fields. That was the first smell I remember when I came to visit my future husband and his family.

Maybe it's because soon the hay loft will be empty and the sweet smell will vanish.

I'll tell our future children: "Your Grampie was a dairy farmer. No matter the weather, no matter the day, he would get up before the sun would rise. Christmas presents were opened after morning chores. For over forty years, he milked the cows twice a day. Countless times he would drive back up to the barn to see if a cow had freshened, check to see if the agitator in the bulk tank was working properly or some such thing.

 

The pasture fences needed to be mended every Spring and the pipeline cleaned every Summer. Stalls and feed boxes would break, water bowls froze. The silo unloader would quit. The baler would break down. One could count on something going wrong. The cows would cross the road twice a day, sometimes holding up traffic.

The weather report was always checked. Would the fields be dry enough to mow? Would there be enough dry, sunny days to ted and rake hay? Would there be enough help to get it all done? Memories of the hot Summer afternoons trying to toss hay bales from the wagon and Grampie thought that I might die because of how red my face would be and how much I sweat. Summer dinners were always unpredictable. Trying to hay as much as possible pushed back milking; dinner was kept warm until all chores were done.

 

Hard work was the name of the game. Maybe he'd take a vacation once a year, but no sick days. Your Grampie is a quiet man and he rarely complained. He just plugged along, doing the best with what he had.

Your cousins loved to go to the barn. They would visit the cows and feed them hay. They would get help to climb up on the tractors and pretend to steer. Barn kitties would be toted around the farm, being held by their middles with paws hanging down.

Your Dad and I got married at noon because we wanted to work around Grampie's schedule. We didn't want him to miss it. A handful of cows were due that weekend, which made it even busier. Some were in the background of our wedding photos.

Being near the farm, I really wanted to help out. I would sweep feed into the trough or scrape manure into the gutter. After much pestering, I was allowed to milk a cow named Lolly. I wasn't very good, but it was something I wanted to experience.

There's a picture of your Dad when he was little and Grampie and your Dad wrote, "I feel love when I'm at the barn." Maybe the cows won't be there, but there will still be the memories and love."

 

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