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 By Raphael Gomide, WPI '05
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
STRUM, Wis. — Never seen so many flies. Gary and Barb did not look comfortable at the Four Points Sheraton Hotel in St. Paul, Minn., a big city compared to Strum, Wis., where they've had a dairy farm for the last 5 years. First-time farm family hosts with the World Press Institute, neither one talked much at lunch in the Governor's Suite.
But once Gary was on his green four-wheel Gator, managing electric fences and cows, showing off his land and cattle and explaining his daily chores, he seemed himself. And, boy, did he talk with pride and love for their 196 Jersey dairy cows and their new milking parlor, still to be completed, which had already relieved the chronic pain in his knees.
Raphael Gomide from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, was the guest of the Olson family on their farm near Strum, Wis., the state known as America's Dairyland. From left, Barb, Josh, Gary, Raphael and Jonathan.
The previously silent person in the checked shirt had given way to a talkative and enthusiastic farmer in jeans and well-worn T-shirt. The countless flies on the farm didn't bother him, although he admitted they were worse this year. He's seen them since he was a boy, every summer, and there have been 48 already, although it doesn't seem like it to him and Barb.
It's not as fancy as the hotel where we were, it's a farm house, he said when he pulled the red Kings Crown Ford into the garage. Not long after that, 20 cows were lined up at the entrance to the parlor, ready to be milked. Each one produced 40-50 pounds of milk a day on average. Jersey cows produce less than Holsteins, but their milk is worth more because it has a higher fat content and is used for butter and cheese.
Come on, girls, just gotta go ahead a little bit, Gary coaxed while tapping their legs with a stick to help them understand his words.
No days off. No holidays. No vacations. A farmer's life.
Barb and Gary knew most of their animals just by looking at their tits. For safety's sake, they also numbered the cows using a plastic band on the right leg. Those cows under treatment got an extra, red band on their left leg.
The Olsons referred to every cow as she but some had earned their own names. Like Funny Face, a 7-year-old light brown cow with a white stain on her forehead who was the family favorite. She was so calm that Jonathan — at 18 the older of the Olsons two sons, the younger was Josh, 11 — could jump onto her back and ride her.
Milking was a routine done twice a day, separated by about 12 hours. There were no days off, no holidays, no vacations. A farmer's life.
6:45 a.m. Twenty cows enter the milking parlor and line up behind white bars, 10 on each side with their backs to the center of the parlor. The farmers stand 3 feet below, so nobody has to kneel or sit on milking stools attached to their bottoms. Ten automatic milkers can milk 10 cows at the same time.
Life in the country is more than hard work, it can be fun, too. Raphael and Josh take a spin on Josh's silver tractor.
Gary and Gwen, a neighbor who gives a hand once in a while, spray the cows tits with sanitizer to avoid infections. After a minute or so they dry them with paper. Next, they pull a 40-pound milker that's hanging from a bar on the ceiling and take it to the cows tits, which will be heavy and stiff, ready to be milked. Some of the cows might kick, but the farmers are protected behind bars, so they don't worry. They might get pooped on (they use a different word for it) by 1 or 2 of the cows. It's juicy and dark green. The farmers simply scrape it or use a hose to wash it off.
Water will be your friend, Gary heard from other farmers when he was researching the new milking parlor. Accustomed to dry milking in a barn, he didn't realize then the importance of water. It's not only for washing up in emergencies. "The dirtier the tail, the more likely the cow will slap your face with a fresh, juicy piece of shit," he explained.
The shiny metal milkers detach automatically when the cows are done. Gary and his helper spray more sanitizer on the cows tits, send them away, hose down the parlor and let the next 10 cows in. By 8:52 a.m., all 196 cows have been milked.
Gary was pretty happy with the parlor after the first few months. Skeptical Barb liked it, too. Gary enjoyed learning and experimenting with new things. He'd even been interviewed on Wisconsin Public Radio and in the pages of the local newspaper, The Country Today, explaining how his new milking parlor enabled him to do the same job in less time and with no knee or back pain. He could stand the whole time.
The kids helped out, feeding the animals, herding them to the parlor, mowing, picking up feed in town with the old truck, driven by John, who almost lost his license after a couple of speeding tickets.
Eleven-year-old Josh had his own tractor. He'd complained that everyone else had a tractor and Barb had gotten a convertible. One day after a snow storm, Gary and Josh went to an auction where a neighbor was selling a 1979 silver tractor. It ended up costing more than expected. But it was worth it.
I'll never forget the look in his eyes when we finally got it. He might be 90 and hell still remember that day, Gary said.
Gary's favorite spot on the farm was a hill where he stopped early in the morning to look over his property.
"Ain't much, but it's all mine," he said. "And I can brag to myself here."
"You're welcome to take the flies home," young Josh told me more than a few times.
I just might.
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