A Generational Morning

When it rains, it pours. That is the saying, at least. We had a taste of that on the dairy this past week. My brother had planned to be out of town with his family for several months. Just before he left, we became short-handed at the dairy. That left my dad responsible for lots of the dairy work. My sister, Brooke, and I communicated a schedule so that we could fill in while Brad was away. Milking with my dad on Friday Morning was my first assignment. Frankly, I was really looking forward to it. It had been a while since I milked with my dad, and I enjoy the conversation it allows. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of cold mornings in this very same milking parlor. Dad would have gladly let me stay in the warm bed on those chilly mornings, but I begged him to wake me up so I could help. Often, he obliged my desire and got me up early in the morning to head to the barn. When I close my eyes, there are things about those mornings that I can still feel, hear, and smell. It's like those experiences are laser-etched into my memory. In an attempt to build those memories in my own children, I asked if any of them would like to help. Wren jumped at the opportunity. Wren is a genuine animal person. She enjoys milking and all the animal-related chores on the farm. I snapped this selfie of the three of us. (because you know, without a selfie, did it even happen.) Three generations milking cows on this cold February morning. I could write a book about what my heart sees when it look at this picture. As a kid, I was part of 3 generations in this same barn. Back then, I was the one trying to prove myself, building lasting memories, and filled with wonder about what this place could be. Currently, I find myself in that middle generation. My siblings and I shoulder the weight of management and essential decisions. We must focus on strategy because it's our turn to mold this farm into what we need and want it to be. I have now seen this operation through the eyes of 2 generations. I often think about what it looks like through the eyes of the oldest generation. I think the operation that they shed literal blood, sweat, and tears for looks different from that perspective. To this generation, I think the actual farm becomes less important. I think that level of maturity and wisdom allows them to see the farm as a conduit that has allowed their family to work shoulder to shoulder, generation to generation, for an entire lifetime. That, my friend, is why we farm. Of course, we love the tractors, the cows, and seeing seeds emerge from the ground. Those things never get old. But the ultimate legacy is achieved by someday being able to look back over a lifetime of hard work done side by side with all the ones we love the most.