Gimme the Dirt… On The Love of Farming

Every day on this farm begins pretty much the same way: we are up before dawn, walk to the barn while the rooster starts crowing in the chicken coop, and chores begin. Then, in a bookend to the day, we perform the same routine again as the sun sets over the Catskills. Only then do we sit down to supper.

“Chores” for us means this: caring for our cows, cleaning pens and indoor dairy stalls, feeding up hay by hand, filling water tubs, milking our small herd of dairy cows, and then setting out fresh bedding until the routine starts all over again in twelve hours. Among the chores somewhere is also bucket feeding the calves who don’t have mamas, collecting eggs and caring for our flock of chickens, tidying the chicken coop and cleaning nest boxes, and setting out bowls of milk for the barn cats who meow at the hay chute window as soon as the milking machine is turned off.

The big tasks – spreading manure, cleaning the freestall, making hay – must be done in chunks of time we expressly set aside, with deference to the weather, the off-farm work schedule, and how much sleep we’ve had. Okay, actually, sleep never plays into our plans, and we are deprived of it far more than we prefer. Calving season happens from mid-May to the end of September, and cow checks in the middle of the night become a part of our routine. We are often covered in the remnants of our cows’ digestion, our farm clothes are nothing we’d ever wear in public, and the odor of the barn lingers in my hair until it’s washed clean again. Bart doesn’t worry about that last bit because…well…he doesn’t have much hair. It’s dirty, physical, exhausting work, yet we wake up every morning and do it all over again. The question is posed to us often when curious visitors scratch their heads and ask, “Why do you do this?” Our answer is always the same, and we usually answer in unison: “Because we love it.”

Farming is in our blood – literally. Bart’s family has been farming for generations; in fact, this farm is a small piece of his grandfather’s original farmstead, which is just across the road from us. He grew up at his grandfather’s knee, learning to milk cows in the huge late-1600s Dutch barn while his grandpa taught him everything he knew. Bart soaked it all in like a sponge – maybe even the jokes not entirely appropriate for young ears. He rode in a big old truck to deliver the milk, in old-fashioned cans, to the creamery right around the corner, where it was bottled or turned into cottage cheese. He learned from knowledge passed down to him and put it into practice as most farmers of his generation. Most importantly, Bart learned because he dedicated himself to farming. He learned because he wanted to. His family wasn’t wealthy in dollars, but there was (and is) a wealth of knowledge, determination, and grit – necessary traits for a successful farmer.

“Farming” is a single word that encompasses a diverse group of disciplines – everything from macroeconomics to animal husbandry to microbiology to environmental science. For someone of intelligence, farming is just about the best challenge one can get.

For someone like Bart, a lifelong learner, farming is life-giving in every sense. Bart bought the land of Hilltop Farm from his grandfather when he graduated from high school, an ambitious purchase for an 18-year-old with big dreams of milking cows and growing his own crops. He got no special family price. He paid the going rate per acre at a time when mortgage rates were in the high double digits. He built his house not long afterward and then his barn when he was all of 23 years old, setting rafters and putting on the roof by himself. If you visit this farm, take a look at the height of that roof, and the thought of climbing up there while lugging huge beams or metal roofing panels will be enough to give you the shivers.

While building his own farm, he worked on other farms to earn extra cash to support his growing family, and he learned from those farmers, too. He built a small but enviable herd of dairy cows. His children showed his registered Holsteins at the county fair, his daughter earning the coveted titles of “Best of Show” and “Master Showman.” It’s in the blood.

I didn’t grow up on a farm, so I can’t claim actual “farm girl” status, but farming is in my blood, too. My paternal grandmother was a true Iowa farm girl, and while I never met her, the stories my dad told me grew to mythological proportions in the heart of my childhood. Born on a hog farm in Neola, Iowa, my grandmother was beautiful, smart, and spunky. Her horse, Diamond Jim (called “Dime” for short), was her pride and joy. She rode him with abandon at breakneck speed over the prairie landscape, an ocean of grain fields ahead of and behind her.

There are a handful of photographs of my father as a small boy, visiting his grandparents on their Iowa farm. Some are with his brother, standing in front of Dime’s pasture, others snuggling on my great-grandmother’s lap. I remember looking at those pictures as a child and imagining their farming life. Those few photos were filled with a mystery for me that my father’s stories only amplified. I wanted to know that life. There were barn kittens just like this upstate New York farm, and of course, the hogs were the livestock my great-grandparents raised and chickens for extra egg money – too many similarities to my own life now to count. How my grandmother ended up here in the Hudson Valley is a story for another day, but her path led me to my own.

I like to say that I didn’t choose farming; rather, I chose my farmer, and then farming chose me. For me, farming isn’t what someone does; it’s who someone is, and the draw of Bart’s life was a powerful force. Who am I kidding? Bart himself is a powerful force. He may be shy, but it’s those quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for. The hard work is daunting, but pulling together in the harness is satisfying indeed. Unlike most other couples, we work together, socialize together, eat our meals together, take walks together, and sit quietly doing nothing together (although doing nothing rarely happens). We do just about everything together. That’s a LOT of together time. We get along, we think alike, and we work well as a team. We both forget the big water trough when it overflows in the wee morning hours, so we even make the same mistakes together! It’s a rarified life, farming, and one we don’t take for granted. In fact, it’s during the greatest challenges we face that we remind each other how fortunate we are. In farming, a setback doesn’t mean quitting; it means doubling down. Because we love it.

There are a few problems in the world of farming today. We need a young generation to have the drive and desire to farm – to love it like we do – but that’s slow to happen. Young people see the glossy social media accounts of farming influencers and think that’s what farming is. They see fields of grain being hand-ground into flour that’s then made into perfect sourdough loaves, or a woman in a prairie dress, apron and cute straw hat hand-milking a cow, and then making cheese while a passel of kids swirl in her skirts. We don’t judge because every farm is different, but we know that’s not the real picture – or the whole picture – of farming.

The economics of getting started in farming make it next to impossible for a new farmer today. The items needed to begin farming are costly (land and equipment), and a tidy savings account is a necessity. Housing (especially in the Northeast) is next to impossible, affordability-wise. Unless a young person is part of a farming legacy or has access to a trust fund, it’s a steep mountain to climb these days. The day-to-day of our farming life isn’t glossy. But it’s authentic. And it’s founded on a deep love for the land, a passion for our animals, and a craving to learn every drop of knowledge we can. We love growing delicious food for our community. We love sharing what we do with anyone who might ask.

We love farming. It’s in our blood.

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Rebecca Collins Brooks is a writer and farmstead cheesemaker on Hilltop Farm in Accord, NY. She is the creator and founder of The Meeting of the Milkmaids, a gathering of women working in the cheese and dairy industry. In addition to a small herd of dairy cows, she and her husband Barton raise Wagyu beef, selling meat to customers directly off the farm. Her best friends are two terriers, Winston and Molly; and Sylvie, a truly brilliant barn cat. You can visit the farm by appointment to see where truly good food is grown.

Connect with Rebecca via Instagram @catskillwagyu, on Facebook CatskillWagyu

And check out > INSIDE+OUT Spotlight on Catskill Wagyu at Hilltop Farm