The visionary and the realist- that's what Joel Salatin dubbed them after meeting Mom and Dad at a farming conference a few years back, and he wasn't wrong.
I've grown up living the ebb and flow of the visionary and realist lifestyle. It's like ocean waves lapping a little farther with each tide and then gravity pulling the waves back in. It keeps life interesting. powerful. balanced. Dad grew up with a hunger for farming. He spent his summers on his family farm in Northern Missouri, dreaming of the days he could run a herd of his own. He wrote to every breed magazine in the industry, asking for old copies of herd catalogs to be mailed to him and the piles under his bed grew. To Mom, the farm was a place where her Papa lived with his black and white Holsteins. When she married Dad right out of high school, a life as a football wife was on her mind, not a life as a dairy farmer, but Dad had different plans, and being the support system she always has been, she went along with them. Our family's agricultural history can be traced back to the Revolutionary War, but there have been some generational gaps along that timeline- Mom and Dad being one of those gaps. With both my parents not having grown up on a farm directly, I used to think we were at a disadvantage, but now I realize it was a blessing. The gap in my parent's agricultural heritage provided them with a fresh perspective and an open approach to farming. They started early on in their marriage raising registered Angus cattle (a breed we still respect and utilize within our herd); however, they were doing everything conventionally, and eventually they started asking themselves what they were chasing, not only on our farm but also within our family. They made the decision to raise our family on a dairy farm, and we purchased our first herd of Jersey cows from some of our close friends. From there, Dad kept researching and reading, thinking there had to be a better way than the direction we were currently headed. He started dreaming of building a farm his children could inherit some day, and mom kept him grounded along the way. Working within the aviation industry as a general manager for much of Dad's dairy farming life did not yield itself to getting too carried away with farming dreams, but that is where the rest of us came in (more on that to come). While Mom never dreamed of being a dairy farmers wife, she fills the position well, dealing with more early mornings and late nights than she knew were possible. She's dealt with years of muddy floors and stinky laundry, and most days she does it with grace. When she's not dairy farming, she's cooking dinner for her family (one of her passions), enjoying a cup of coffee with fresh cream and dark chocolate sugar, or reading a good book (when she finds time). When Dad is not dairying, he's thinking about dairying, stretching our family just a little farther with each idea that comes to him. Mom brings those ideas back down to earth, but sometimes the waves take over, creating the Creamy Hills Dairy of today.
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Stories for Sylia and Sophie, too:
So that no matter where this life takes you, you remember where you came from. When you were both little you lived on the farm with Grammie and Pop. Your house was above the garage, and in the spring time your Uncle Eli would open the garage doors while he was working at his work bench. When the garage doors were open, Pop's chickens would come inside. They were empty headed animals- perching on top of the cars, laying eggs behind the freezers, and climbing the stairs to your house. One afternoon the sun was shining outside, and your momma decided to take you two girls for a stroller ride. The wind was blowing, and so she bundled you up in your jackets and off you went. You went down the drive, across the hay field, and along the creek bottom. Meanwhile, Uncle Eli kept working at his work bench, and the chickens kept climbing your stairs. When you returned to the house, your momma found the door blown open from the wind and a chicken in your kitchen. She squabbled and squawked as loud as the chicken as she picked it up and tossed it back outside. This was the first offense. A few days and a few chickens later, you all came home to a hen perched on your daddy's dresser. Only, this one was not going to be tossed outside without a fight. The chicken started flying through the air, jumping from one piece of furniture to the next, with your momma trailing right behind it. It was quite the scene- two wide eyed babies sitting on the couch and your momma chasing the chicken in circles around and around the house. You thought it was hilarious, indicated by your rolling belly laughs. When your momma caught that old hen, you clapped and cheered. Your momma was a hero. . . Grandma Janet said that chicken would have been fried chicken, but it lived to see another day, or at least- that's what your momma says. Victoria headed back to “work” this week, and the girls went with her.
Growing up, Mom and Dad always made it a priority for Mom to stay at home with us, and we’re thankful that our farm today can provide Victoria with an income while also allowing her to be present with her girls. We added another shelf in the old kitchen to make room for our growing milk demand. The shelves hold the clean jars every day before being filled with milk the next morning. We’ve also turned the farm office area into a play room for the girls. This old house, where you pick up your meat, milk, and eggs was built in 1891. I often stop and think about the laughs carried, the tears shed, and the love shared here over the years. Our family has experienced all three within these walls- first as our home and now as the hub of our farm operation. One hundred and thirty years is a long time for a house to stand, but I’m thankful it’s being used to serve hundreds of families each week. No doubt, the farmer who built it would be proud to know each of you grace his front porch steps. Sarah and Jason.
Mom and Dad. Grammie and Pop. Two high-school sweethearts with plans to build a life together. Farming wasn’t necessarily their goal from the beginning, but raising a family was, and farming became the best game plan for making it happen. Dad’s leadership from his years of high school and college sports built a team, and Mom’s sacrificial love became the glue that held it all together. Dad’s business leadership took him all over the world, but only for the purpose of building a better life for our family and farm. When given the choice between climbing the ladder or staying close to home, Mom and Dad chose home. In my opinion, a higher calling than corporate executive. Creamy Hills Dairy is our home here on this earth, and for the time being, our lives are dedicated to harnessing our talents and energy to make this land as productive as we can. Leadership. Team work. Glue. These are the things our family is made of. We overcome obstacles and set backs, but in the end, the “go harder” mentality wins, and we take time to celebrate the victories along the way. As we look at what is in store for the future, I’m thankful we have these two laying the groundwork ahead of us. |
Our Farm's Voice
Hello! I'm Madelaine Paige, and I'm so glad we've met. I love mornings, milk cows, and musings. Archives
July 2021
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