Why Cows Need Names: And More Secrets of Amish Farms

11. Milking—A Family Affair

Milking—A Family Affair · 95 95 11 Milking—A Family Affair it’s late Wednesday afternoon and the weather is a little cloudy but warm and dry, as I leave the office and head over once again to visit Eli and Katie , this time to be there while they milk the cows. This isn’t something i routinely do, but it’s sometimes helpful when a new farm is still getting started. The Gingeriches have been milking for about six months now, and i’d like to see how the barn and milking system are working. Besides, it’s always fun to be in a dairy barn at chore time. i stopped out two days ago to ask eli if it would be all right any day this week. Of course it was fine, but he did not pass up the opportunity to pull my chain just a little. Without hesitation he asked, “Do you want to help with morning chores, or just evening? Morning might be better.” i know where this is leading but see no reason to interrupt his sport. “alright, eli, what time do you normally start morning chores?” “Oh, if you get here somewhere around 4:30 it should be fine.” “No.” “Well, if you want, you can sleep in and show up at about a quarter to five.” “No, eli. What time do you start evening chores?” Withahugegrinofsatisfactiononhisface,hecondescendinglyshrugged. “If you really would rather do evening chores then, we start milking at five but are generally in the barn by a little after four.” “The evening milking will be fine. I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Not much more than a mile from the office, the red flashing lights of a stopped school bus appear up ahead in front of an amish home. Getting closer now i can see it is a special needs school bus. an old man with a 96 · Why Cows Need Names cane is slowly making his way across the yard as the hydraulic lift lowers a wheelchair with a severely disabled person down to road level. The girl in the chair seems unable even to move her head. The old man exchanges a short greeting with the bus driver, rests his cane over the wheelchair, pushes her 10 feet into the driveway, and stops. a thin woman with silver hair showing at her bonnet edges comes out of the house and ties a rope around the arms of the wheelchair. She pulls, he pushes. The chair rolls up the ramp onto the porch, and all three disappear into the house. Suddenly, i realized that the bus has long since pulled away while my car is aimlessly idling in the middle of the road. There’s no traffic; there seldom is. I’m not sure what box to file this scene in. Maybe it’s family love, or courage, or strength, maybe it is simply grace, but it is the type of scene that makes up the fabric of this community, and describes what it’s like to be here in the settlement, every day. Once again, i am humbled. it is only the presence of the white barn towering above the driveway on the left that brings me back to the Gingeriches and today’s dairy farm mission. The dog greets me first, of course. Then Eli, holding the receiver, steps half out of the little white wooden phone booth perched in the yard over by the barn. “i’ll be right with you, Randy.” i move over to the heavy wooden door, pull it open, and step inside the barn to wait. Several minutes later, eli comes in, “Sorry, i was on the phone with my cousin over in Pennsylvania.” “Where’s your cousin live in Pennsylvania?” “Guys Mills.” There are many amish settlements in Pennsylvania, but i’m not surprised that his cousin is in Guys Mills. it’s a daughter settlement of Geauga, and most of the folks who live there came from here at one time or another. “is this the cousin you said was a dairy farmer?” “Yeah, he called because he’s having trouble with his butterfat. i had the same problem a few months ago. I finally changed feed companies, and things got a lot better. He is still using the same company i used to use, and things are not good.” a problem with butterfat always means the same thing on a dairy farm: less money. Farmers are paid a premium for...