Dairy Wife Says Goodbye

1996 - Volume #20, Issue #6, Page #05

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It was at least a year before I could talk about selling our cows without crying. Being a dairy family carries a certain identity that is difficult to let go. And I was sure I would be a dairy farmer forever.
But life takes different turns and my husband and I had to evaluate where we were headed and make some difficult choices.
On July 26, 1993, I left for my job in town, and Lyman loaded our cows on a truck. That evening, we sat at the dining room table looking at one another and wondering aloud "Where do we go from here?" Our children, then 15 and 11, were wondering the same thing.
Between feeding the heifers we had kept, Lyman cut firewood and did odd jobs. I continued my full-time job in town, began writing more, and realized how tired I had become over the prior months dealing with our decision.
We became sports junkies as well. We were now able to attend every one of our children's school functions, as well as those of nieces and nephews. We could stay later at family gatherings and I could stay awake longer dur- ing our monthly pinochle games with friends. I continued my involvement with Oregon Dairy Women and the Holstein Association.
As I look back, that first year is now a little blurry. Lyman has found his niche as a girl's soccer and softball coach and is proudly recognized by young children in our community as "my bus driver".
Our daughter is headed to OSU to study agriculture and our son continues his interest in farming and animals.
I still work in town, spend a little time writing, and work in our old milk room. It's been transformed into a little country store where I sell herbs, dried-flower wall hangings and preserves made from our raspberries and Marionberries. Good use for an important place in the barn.
And I've adjusted to a new identity. Now I fully understand when someone tells me, fondly, that they used to be a dairy farmer. It's an exclusive club. (Margaret Barrett, Turner, Oregon)

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Dairy Wife Says Goodbye DAIRY EQUIPMENT & IDEAS Dairy Equipment & Ideas 20-6-5 It was at least a year before I could talk about selling our cows without crying. Being a dairy family carries a certain identity that is difficult to let go. And I was sure I would be a dairy farmer forever. But life takes different turns and my husband and I had to evaluate where we were headed and make some difficult choices. On July 26, 1993, I left for my job in town, and Lyman loaded our cows on a truck. That evening, we sat at the dining room table looking at one another and wondering aloud "Where do we go from here?" Our children, then 15 and 11, were wondering the same thing. Between feeding the heifers we had kept, Lyman cut firewood and did odd jobs. I continued my full-time job in town, began writing more, and realized how tired I had become over the prior months dealing with our decision. We became sports junkies as well. We were now able to attend every one of our children's school functions, as well as those of nieces and nephews. We could stay later at family gatherings and I could stay awake longer dur- ing our monthly pinochle games with friends. I continued my involvement with Oregon Dairy Women and the Holstein Association. As I look back, that first year is now a little blurry. Lyman has found his niche as a girl's soccer and softball coach and is proudly recognized by young children in our community as "my bus driver". Our daughter is headed to OSU to study agriculture and our son continues his interest in farming and animals. I still work in town, spend a little time writing, and work in our old milk room. It's been transformed into a little country store where I sell herbs, dried-flower wall hangings and preserves made from our raspberries and Marionberries. Good use for an important place in the barn. And I've adjusted to a new identity. Now I fully understand when someone tells me, fondly, that they used to be a dairy farmer. It's an exclusive club. (Margaret Barrett, Turner, Oregon)

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