I can’t take credit for the term "quarter-life crisis," but when I read it, I laughed out loud because it seems to be the theme of my life lately. My family decided to sell our cows a few months ago, and I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t rocked my world. You’re no stranger to this industry and know the challenges we face, so I don’t feel the need to explain why the cows were sold, but I will say it was the right decision for my family and the right time. God has a plan for all of us.
Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. Eighteen years of our lives were loaded on a semi that cold April morning, and the silence that hung over the barnyard after they rolled away was haunting.
Like many of you, I owe a lot to those cows. They taught me how to work, how to love, how to make hard decisions, how to get knocked down and jump right back up. So much of my identity is wrapped up in being a dairy farmer. It’s why I spent the better part of my life chasing a tanbark trail, traveling the U.S. (thanks, dairy bowl), going to college and writing this editorial right now. In a roundabout way, it's why my husband and I connected so quickly. It’s why I passionately argue with anyone who wants to about the nutritional value of dairy products. Now that part of my identity is gone, who am I?
I’m still sorting through it. It’s been a weird few months. I find myself tearing up often, reminiscing on memories that brought my brothers and I so close together as we worked side by side: feeding calves, bedding heifers, showing cows. My phone loves to remind me what I was doing on this day years ago, often bringing up photos of chore time and baby calves *cue the tears* that send me into a spiral thinking about the maternal line of that heifer, where it came from and who we bred her to and how much we accomplished in 18 years. Walking into the barn office, I see plaques and ribbons from our show winners and it stings to know that chapter of our lives has ended for now.
Who knew those cows I hated so much when I was 5 would be the reason I’m so heartbroken at 23?
As I poured out my heart to my husband one night, he gave me a hug and said, “How blessed are you to love something so much it makes letting it go so hard?”
I've been in a state of self-reflection since. Am I still the same person? What kind of hobby do I pick up now? Should I buy a motorcycle? A boat? Take up pottery or underwater basket weaving? Now that the cows are gone, who should I be? It didn't take long for me to find the answer.
I’m going to continue loving this industry. I’m going to keep advocating for those cows that own so much of my heart. I’m going to champion every single one of you, readers, because you’re a rockstar in my eyes. I might not be an active dairy farmer anymore – I'm a legacy dairy farmer – and I'm not going anywhere. My love for the dairy cow runs deep. Though this quarter-life crisis might continue to take me on a ride, I feel so blessed to live the life I do and work for you – the dairy farmer.
