08/24/2026
Please read the attached article. This is IMPORTANT!!!
For us, changing from big dairy industry co-op to Farm To Table Farm fresh milk saved the family dairy years ago. However, we have still been supressed. And we still battle the tyranical overreach. DFA made it clear to us face to face they aim to shut us all down yet they have sweet family oriented promotional ads!!!
So as the weather shifts such as the heat 🌡 wave we have 👀 seen...production is really felt on the family farm and affects your supply to your table. Hence, we do not have UNRESERVED milk this week.
There are solutions to this massive problem that threatens our food choices and that is YOU THE CONSUMER sticking with the local dairy farmer (us) through the thick and thin of it all. Make your dollars count. Choose where you purchase wisely. You may not be able to purchase unreserved this week but dont forget to check back. Rain will come, cooler temps will happen, more grass will grow. Milk supply will come up.
Also make your voice heard by speaking to your state representatives and senators and ask them to help right all the wrongs.
Do not wait until every single family dairy is gone. Do. Not. Wait.
https://www.facebook.com/share/14u9bhm4y92/
TONIGHT, I AM CRYING FOR THEM.
Over the past few days, people have trusted me with some of the most painful moments of their lives.
They have told me what it was like to lose their dairies.
And with every story, I can feel it.
I can feel the fear around the kitchen table as they ran the same numbers again and again, desperately hoping those numbers might somehow change.
I can feel the panic when they realized there was no money left.
I can feel the tears they swallowed when the livestock trailers pulled into the yard.
I can see them watching cows they bred, delivered, raised, treated and milked walk up those ramps—cows carrying bloodlines their families had spent generations building.
And then I can hear what came afterward.
Nothing.
No vacuum pump.
No cows shifting in their stalls.
No calves calling.
No reason to pull on their boots before daylight.
Only an empty barn that still smelled like the life they once had.
And somewhere, someone looked at that empty barn and said:
“They failed to adjust.”
No.
They did not fail.
They worked longer.
They borrowed more.
They expanded when they were told expansion was the answer.
They cut expenses until there was nothing left to cut.
They went without while their cows ate first.
They kept trying until there was nothing left of themselves to give.
Then their herds were loaded, their barns went silent and the system called it “structural adjustment.”
It called it progress.
It called it efficiency.
But those farmers did not fail to adjust.
They were abandoned in the name of it.
And through all of this, the milk kept appearing.
It appeared in grocery-store coolers while families sat at kitchen tables and decided that generations of work would end.
It appeared while herds were dispersed.
It appeared while barns went silent.
It appeared while local feed stores, equipment dealers, veterinarians, schools, churches and entire rural communities lost another family.
Because the shelves remained full, most of America never realized anything was wrong.
Milk production continued somewhere else. Herds grew larger. Tankers traveled farther. The system replaced the people—and consumers never saw the cost.
Tonight, the weight of their stories became almost more than I could bear.
So I prayed.
I prayed for strength. I prayed for courage. I asked the Lord to guide me and calm my fear.
Then I opened my Bible and trusted Him to lead me where I needed to go.
He led me to 2 Kings 20:5:
“I have heard your prayer. I have seen your tears. And I will heal you.”
Perhaps the world did not hear the prayers whispered around those kitchen tables.
Perhaps the people who praised “efficiency” never saw the tears wiped away before the livestock truck arrived.
Perhaps the system never counted the anguish left inside those empty barns.
But God did.
He heard them.
He saw them.
Tonight, I am crying for the farmers who were told their loss was simply the price of efficiency.
I am crying for the people who carried the shame quietly because they believed they had failed.
I am crying for those who still cannot talk about the day their cows left.
And I am crying for the empty barns scattered across rural America—each one holding a story that was reduced to one more “licensed herd” disappearing from a government report.
Those farmers did not fail.
We failed them.
The milk kept appearing while rural America was torched from the inside out.
The milk kept appearing.
The farmers disappeared.
