A Raw Business Background
And the infamous pull-squeeze technique
It seems I lucked out. I don’t know what the statute of limitations is on the illegal sale of raw milk, but I’m about to make a confession. If my violation is so heinous that I simply cannot “run out the clock” on this and enforcement is still possible after five-plus decades, then I’m in big trouble.
My confession: I was part of what, in retrospect, can only be called a raw-milk “syndicate” for maybe five years in my mid-to-late teens. Co-conspirators were my parents and at least one brother, my back-up milker, who always seemed somewhat less helpful than I wished. My customers, beneficiaries of my crime ring, were nearby farm families, plus a thirsty household in Mona, and two guys Dad worked with at the plant… Hormel’s in Austin. Yeah, we smuggled contraband raw milk across state lines.
Going off to college in the early 1970s meant I extracted myself from this burgeoning dairy enterprise. Late fall 1972, I walked up to the Luther College bursar’s office on the second floor of “Main” and wrote a check for second semester costs. (Presumably, first semester was covered by a check sent before I arrived in August.) THIS check, however, was drawn on MY account, the proceeds of MY venture: countless evenings in the barn; positioned by, almost under, one of four cows; pail held by my knees; a rhythmic, simultaneous pull-squeeze, pull-squeeze, pull-squeeze pinging warm, foamy liquid into a shiny silver pail. When I hurried, I could milk four cows in 35 minutes.
My capital assets: a Brown Swiss, a Guernsey, a Holstein, and a Jersey… eventually. The Brown Swiss was my first and my favorite, occupying the stanchion closest to the door. I had accompanied Dad to kindly Cliff’s farm just north of Mona, three of us ambling out into the pasture to inspect this prospective purchase. I think I was eleven. The reason I was tagging along? Not only were we hopeful of buying a milk cow to help feed a growing family, Dad was about to go on second shift, 3:00-11:00PM. It all dawned on me. He’d handle morning chores; his eldest son, yours truly, would assume evening duties.
The only cattle I had known before that day were beef cattle. This Brown Swiss, bred for dairy purposes, struck me as being… somewhat bony. I mentioned this to Dad as we traveled home. “Yeah, maybe we’ll fatten her up a bit.” He obviously wasn’t too concerned. This nameless bovine (we only named pets) was part of my life for the next seven years. I’d stand at the barn door, beckoning her in from the pasture, imitating Dad’s deep “commm-bosss” with my adolescent call, minimally an octave higher. If cattle can be amused, this might have done it.
Docile, except whenever a sore “gripper” made things challenging, then this critter zealously guarded her udder. Without warning, she’d lift her closest hoof and “pedal” once or twice before settling again. Occasionally, she overcame my sturdy defense, knocking the pail out from between my legs. Or, she’d step artfully smack dab in the middle of the bucket, which meant the cats ate well.
The “lucked out” observation above includes the fact that no one ever got sick from drinking our unpasteurized milk. At least, not that I know about. We sold raw milk fifty cents a gallon at a time when the store-bought variety was about $1.32 / gallon. Sure, we were careful; our fresh milk was always strained through a paper filter. I don’t recall, however, conversations about assumption of risk from consuming raw milk. Was buyer beware merely understood? It was a very different time.
These memories surface now because the nominee to head the federal Health and Human Service Department is a raw milk drinker and advocate. His nomination prods me to reflect on issues regarding raw milk, legal in Iowa since mid 2023. I’ll write more about this next week, addressing questions that include how much involvement government should have in our lives.
This all assumes I’ve not been arrested. Stay tuned.
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I’m pleased to be part of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. My talented colleagues:
I bought a lot of raw milk, so I suppose I may be in trouble too. 😊
This was a delightful read. Who knew such chicanery was in your past?