Most people who knew me before I became a farmer really thought this crazy dream I had to open a dairy farm was impractical.
Often I received questions like “Did you grow up on a farm?” No. “Were you involved in cheesemaking growing up in Wisconsin?” No. “Do you have a degree in microbiology?” No, something if I had known I was going to end up doing this I would have pursued (as well as my DVM).
Surely going from shopping at Nordstrom, vacationing internationally, working in temperature controlled offices with staff and cleaning services to farming seemed a bit, um, rash. But I assure you it wasn’t.
Consider this. There are two things I wanted growing up. 1) to be a vet… until I learned they have to operate on animals and sometimes they die, and 2) a baby elephant.
Now, consider this… I gave up on one of those childhood dreams.
So I ask you again. A goat farm? A dairy? A creamery?
A baby elephant?
NOW which decision seems rash?
Now that I have terrified my poor husband, I will head to bed happy… knowing that paint fumes can make me dream my childhood dreams, and grateful that when I clean the pen on Sunday I only have goat poop to worry about!