‘At some point ... you’ve just got to quit’
In first half of 2019, state lost 449 dairy farms
There is no more quintessential image of Wisconsin than a red barn with a herd of cows grazing in a green field against a blue sky. But that part of the state’s economy and culture is being torn apart as farmers wrestle with a grinding, five-year price slump.
Dairy farms — mostly small, familyrun operations — are closing at a rate of nearly three a day. A total of 449 dairy farms were lost in the first half of 2019, nearly 25% more than during the same period last year.
Every farm carries its own stories. Here is a look at the stories behind some of the farms that have closed this year.
Woodlawn Farm
Dairy farm since around 1890 Sauk County 30 cows
Darrell Westphal grew up on Woodlawn Farm, which had been passed down through his family for more than 100 years.
He remembers spending much of his childhood fishing in the nearby creek, playing baseball with his brothers and spending time outside. He said there was something for them to do every day.
“I never knew any other life,” he said. Westphal eventually took over as owner of the farm, but on Feb. 13, he sold his herd of 30 dairy cows. At age 60, he was getting older, milk prices
were still too low and last fall’s weather left him with no good feed.
“I was working harder than I was when I first started, trying to make ends meet,” he said.
Westphal still farms about 6 acres of corn and hay for the handful of steers he has left. He rents out the other 100 acres and works for a bigger farmer in the area.
“I’m still doing what I enjoy doing,” he said.
As for selling the herd, Westphal said the part that hurt the most was when his 4-year-old granddaughter walked into the barn and asked, “Where are the cows?”
— Kaitlin Edquist, Green Bay Press-Gazette
Happy Cow Dairy
Dairy farm since 1923 Jefferson County 85 cows
David Dahnert is tired of bad surprises.
Twice in the same year his milk buyers unexpectedly stopped taking Happy Cow Dairy’s organic milk. Since October 2018, Dahnert has only been paid for four days worth of milk. He’s dumped the farm’s daily production every day since December.
In the midst of that, he let his license to sell milk lapse.
The first bout of bad news came in February 2018. He learned that his buyer, Horizon, was about to drop him when the milk truck driver asked him why Happy Cow Dairy wasn’t on his route for the next day. Because Horizon had failed to give adequate notice, it paid him for the next 30 days — but that was it.
“There was about 10 of us that got dropped,” Dahnert said. “One farmer actually shot himself, I mean, that’s how bad it was.”
That time, Dahnert went four months without a milk check.
In July 2018, cheesemaker Jay Noble starting buying his milk, which offered a short-lived reprieve. But by October, Noble’s business was bankrupt and Dahnert was again without a buyer.
“Nobody will take your milk,” he said. “There’s so much milk out there, they don’t care if you’re throwing the milk away. And that’s how bad the dairy industry is. It’s crazy.”
Dahnert, 63, has milked cows for more than 50 years. The farm has been in his family for three generations. He’s tried to get a job in town, but he doesn’t want to leave his farm and his cows. He and his wife are getting by on his wife’s income and some profit from crops, paying only the essential bills.
Dahnert said he can only hang onto his cows for a few more months. He hopes to find another milk buyer in the fall.
Until then, he will milk the cows every day and pour the milk down the drain.
— Nina Bertelsen, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
McGlynn Family Dairy
Dairy farm since 1990 Sauk County
60 cows
Patrick McGlynn and his wife, Monica, bought their farm in Sauk County in 1990 — five years after they got married. At the time, it was easy to start out as a farmer.
Monica McGlynn grew up as one of nine kids on a farm with 24 dairy cows and other livestock, and her husband also grew up on a farm, so the lifestyle was familiar and comfortable for both of them. They raised two children on their farm and considered the dairy cows a “part of the family,” too.
“Now, those days are all gone,” said Patrick McGlynn, 58, who still works 80 hours per week on the farm. “It’s just a bottom line for us, we couldn’t generate enough capital to make a living (dairy) farming.”
McGlynn said the hardest day of his life was when he lost his father in a farming accident in December 1970. McGlynn was 10 when his father died.
The second hardest came in February, when he sold his 60 cows.
“I cried like a baby when they got loaded up,” McGlynn said. “My wife wouldn’t come to the barn.”
For McGlynn, it seems like the only farmers who are not hurting are those who come from “old money” and have been farming for generations. He doesn’t hold grudges against them, but doesn’t like the criticism he hears about smaller farms — that they don’t save enough money during good times to get them through the bad. Especially since some bigger farms are facing struggles, too.
The 16-mile trip from McGlynn’s farm to the area where he grew up was once flourishing with dairy farms. Now, many of them are out of business.
“The farms that go out of business now will never milk cows again and that’s a fact,” McGlynn said. “It’s done. The dairy industry is done as we knew it.”
— Hibah Ansari, Appleton Post-Crescent
Highland Acres
Dairy farm since 1963 Marathon County 60 cows
Michael Marx misses driving tractors, baling hay and milking cows with his siblings on his family’s farm.
He also misses what happened after the work was done — the fun incentives his father used to create for the kids. He remembers working hard baling hay for a few weeks and then spending a weekend rafting and picnicking on the Wolf River with his family.
“Those are the kind of memories that stick with you,” he said.
Marx’s parents, Alfred and Mary, bought the Marathon County farm in 1963, the same year he was born. Marx and his wife eventually took over. In February, they sold most of the cows and stopped selling milk; the business had run their savings dry.
The decision was difficult; Marx knew his parents wanted their family to grow on the farm and pass it down to future generations.
Marx still milks cows for a friend and drives a tractor for another, but it’s not the same. He hopes the market will turn around someday so he can get back to the farming he loves.
“We have to look forward, because you can’t go back,” he said. “There’s nothing to look backward for.”
— Kaitlin Edquist, Green Bay Press-Gazette
Randy and Ron Beilke’s Dairy Farm
Dairy farm since 1927 Marathon County 50 cows
In 2016, Randy Beilke and his brother, Ron, took over their grandfather’s farm, which he started in 1927. At their peak, they had 50 cows.
“Whatever we did, we did ourselves,” Beilke said. “The way we were set up is we did what we could handle and we never hired anybody — we did the work ourselves.”
By February, they decided to get out of the dairy business and sell the farm’s remaining 25 cows.
“We were just losing money every day,” Beilke said. “It didn’t pay to keep them anymore. We weren’t getting paid enough money and the bills were just eating us alive.
“I did (farming) my whole life but I’ve never seen anything like this as it is now.”
Beilke has turned his efforts to beef cattle and cash crops such as corn and beans.
What upset him most about selling the cows was that they were not bought for dairy farming — they were all slaughtered.
“It was a very good lifestyle. I enjoyed it my whole life, but, you know, when you’re small like we were, you can’t really fight,” Beilke said. “I would’ve liked to have kept on longer but when you’re losing money all the time — at some point in time you’ve just got to quit.”
— Hibah Ansari, Appleton Post-Crescent
Shady Lane Stock Farm
Dairy farm since 1896 Chippewa County 40 cows
Thomas Jackson is the fourth-generation owner of the Shady Lane Stock Farm in the small town of Cadott. His dairy operation shut down Feb. 1, 2019, due to Jackson’s advancing age and sagging milk prices.
“The price of milk is pretty ridiculous,” said Jackson, 59.
Jackson said his neighbors have sold their land to local Amish farmers, but Jackson is determined to keep the land in his family — and to continue farming it.
“They don’t have to ask us,” Jackson said of potential buyers. “They’re not getting ours.”
The farm began in 1896, when his family transitioned from logging to farming. Without the dairy operation, he plans to sell grapes and flowers, among other crops. Jackson also takes side jobs in construction and related fields.
“I mean, you sort of miss the cows,” Jackson said. “Hopefully we make some money on the other stuff.”
— Sydney Czyzon, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
Thomas Zepczyk’s Dairy Farm
Bayfield County 60 cows
Growing up on a third-generation family farm, Thomas Zepczyk remembers being surrounded by farmers. He said there were once about 120 dairy farms within Eileen Township in Bayfield County.
Now there’s only one left — and it isn’t his.
In February, Zepczyk had to sell his 60-cow herd. He said there wasn’t enough hay to feed the cows and he couldn’t afford to replace equipment.
“It’s been tough for a guy to try to make a living,” he said.
Zepczyk, 60, said his health also played a role in the timing. He recently had knee surgery and needed time to recover.
“It was a good time to do it while the cows are gone,” he said with a chuckle.
For now, Zepczyk is not sure what he’s going to do next.
“It’s pretty sad,” he said. “Sad, sad, sad.”
— Kaitlin Edquist, Green Bay Press-Gazette
“Nobody will take your milk. There’s so much milk out there, they don’t care if you’re throwing the milk away. And that’s how bad the dairy industry is.” David Dahnert Happy Cow Dairy