Pictures taken at St Johns Organic Farm

Yesterday was another peaceful drive to the dairy. It is so quiet out there. I was told it wasn’t always so.

It’s a different a scene that Susan Dill remembers from her childhood on the farm. On milk days the town’s people would line up with their own containers to get their milk. It was bustling few hours of activity. A time to say your “howdy do s” and catch up on the local gossip.  It was one of the ways the community stayed connected. It was a real connection over real food.

When my mother was growing up in the 20s, her family could buy or produce fresh raw whole milk and buttermilk. Butter hadn’t been ostracized yet and was still naturally yellow and delicious.  Local cheeses were available in great variety, texture and color that varied according to the culture and craftsmanship of the cheese maker. Having quality local dairies was considered to be vital to the economy of communities and the health of the people.

Now In my time, milk is accused of being the culprit of allergies, intestinal disorders, heart disease . Raw milk has it even worse. It’s been demonized.

Strange how these health conditions were rare when milk was available raw  and REAL .

Dairies that produce raw milk are finding it increasingly more difficult to get insurance because of the perceived liability issues. Yet a restaurant that serves eggs sunny side up, or a steak cooked rare, has the same degree of risk. Ever notice the little disclaimer at the bottom of the menu?

Liqueur stores and taverns sell products known to cause birth defects. But I haven’t seen them shut down in mass and ran out business because of the “risk to the public”. Not to mention  the risk to the public when someone drives while under the influence of their products. Yet they have insurance policies protecting their livelihoods.

So now, when I pull up to St John’s Organic Farm, I’m usually the only car there. The milking and packaging has happened earlier in the day. I go into the milk house and pull 2.5 gallon packages of milk from the cooler. I transfer the packages to my cooler in the back of my van.

There are no conversations except for the ones with my own family. Just the lowing of the cows, clucking of chickens and the occasional cooing of a morning dove.

It’s bitter sweet. I welcome the quiet.  I love the scenery at the farm, the old buildings, especially the barn. The rolling soft hills, still green with spring grass.

Yet I can’t help feeling a little sadness.  It would be nice to see a friend and catch up on our lives. Watch kids petting calf noses. To hear voices. To watch people mingle. I guess that’s why I love the Saturday market so much.

My heart hurts a little knowing that this awesome real food is here, ready to nourish and build health. Yet people tell me they are scared to drink it or they complain it’s too expensive.

I get back into my car and drive home. On my way I drop off packages for another share owner.

Who knows maybe more folks will buy shares and then I can deliver more packages…that would make me feel better. All that wonderful milk…….

Check out Why a Campaign for Real Milk?.

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