The Long Red Fence
Recently, I decided to take a drive out into the country. In my hour-long travel, I had passed many beautiful dairy farms and agricultural fields, but something in the distance caught my eye. As I came closer, I could see that there was a long barbed wire fence running along the field. Now, in and of itself, this is no rare sight on a dairy farm. The unusual thing about this fence was that all of the posts had been painted a bright red color.
With my interest now piqued (and in no particular hurry because the pandemic had closed everything down), I pulled off to the side of the road to take a closer look. After parking my car and walking around to the fence, I noticed something even more bizarre. On one side of the fence, the cows seemed to be plump, robust, and in fantastic health. On the other side of the fence, the cows appeared to be completely emaciated and sickly. Having grown up in a dairy region of New York and having spent much time at my grandparents dairy farm, I knew this to be a very strange way to treat your cows. I was completely perplexed at the concept.
Now, this is where most of you will think that I have lost my mind, but I swear all of this is true…
Apparently my look of perplexity must have been so profound that I drew the attention of one of the weak and ill-looking cows. We stared at each other for a moment and then she abruptly began to mosey over toward me. In the time that it took her to amble forth, I had ample time to ponder her predicament. Being a lover of all animals, I regularly talk to all forms of creatures from birds, to squirrels, to chipmunks. Not wanting to be considered disrespectful, I simply said, “Hello there cow. Why is it that you seem so ill and the cows on the other side of the fence look so well?”
As I mentioned, I regularly talk to animals but I have never had one respond to me...until now! The cow drew a slow and tired breath and began to tell me this story:
“Well sir, way back in time, I believe it was in the 1930’s, this farm was owned by a farmer by the name of Roo Sevelt. I believe he was from Hyde Park, NY, but that is not relevant to the story. Anyway, as a young boy, Mr. Sevelt had owned a young Holstein cow that he raised as a pet. Naturally, he had an affection for Holstein as he matured into an adult and bought this farm. On this farm there were many different varieties of cows including Holstein, Guernsey, and Jersey. Because of his predilection toward Holstein, Mr. Sevelt just naturally began offering them the most choice feed and the most choice grazing. He would bring them into the barn in the winter and would offer them the shade in the summer. Naturally, as a result of this preferential treatment, the Holsteins began to become the highest producers of milk. Mr. Sevelt still continued to milk all of us cows, but our production was continually sliding downward.
As years passed, Mr. Sevelt began to think that it might be nice to leave the farming to a younger man and perhaps take up fly fishing. In 1968, Mr. Sevelt sold the farm to Elbee Johnson. Mr. Johnson, while a farmer by profession, did not care much for us animals. He was really only concerned with the business and his financial bottom line. Shortly after he arrived on the farm, he initiated a policy whereby any cow who was to be housed or fed in the barn must produce at least 8 gallons of milk per day. Of course, you can guess how that went. The Holsteins had been treated with such privilege for so many years that their healthy lifestyle could afford them this great degree of production. The milk production from us Guernsey and Jersey had continually decreased to around 4-5 gallons per day. There was just no way that we could catch up and produce the volumes that Mr. Johnson was now demanding.
As a result, Mr. Johnson decided that we would no longer be a part of his farming plan. He made many attempts to sell us off to other farmers in the area, but by this time everyone in the region had heard about our failing milk production and wanted nothing to do with us. Being just a bit above barbaric, Mr. Johnson decided to let us live out our lives here on the farm. Of course, he did not want us to intermingle with the high-producing Holsteins, so he built this fence far away from the barn. We are forced to survive only on what we can graze from this field and the winters here are awful. As we became increasingly emaciated and ill, Mr. Johnson was more concerned about the well-being of his prize Holsteins. In order to ensure that there was never any accidental integration between the two herds, Mr. Johnson painted the fence posts red as a clear warning. And now, there is just no reasonable way that will ever allow us to catch up and become a part of the Holstein herd. We are destined to exhaust away in this redlined wasteland.”
I have to admit, this story left me speechless (not the part about the talking cows, but their actual story). I stood there with my mouth agape, and I must say that, for a moment, I thought about just easing myself back into my car and blissfully driving away. As much as that would have been the easier thing to do, I guess I am just not that kind of guy. So I asked the cow, “Is there anything that I can do to help?”
The cow looked at me with what I can only say was a surprise just short of resignation. He took a very slow and very deep breath and said, “Sir, you can tell our story!”
And that is why I am writing this today...
If you want to learn more about the history of redlining in America, here are a couple things to check out:
https://www.npr.org/2017/05/03/526655831/a-forgotten-history-of-how-the-u-s-government-segregated-america
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o-yD0wGxAc
With my interest now piqued (and in no particular hurry because the pandemic had closed everything down), I pulled off to the side of the road to take a closer look. After parking my car and walking around to the fence, I noticed something even more bizarre. On one side of the fence, the cows seemed to be plump, robust, and in fantastic health. On the other side of the fence, the cows appeared to be completely emaciated and sickly. Having grown up in a dairy region of New York and having spent much time at my grandparents dairy farm, I knew this to be a very strange way to treat your cows. I was completely perplexed at the concept.
Now, this is where most of you will think that I have lost my mind, but I swear all of this is true…
Apparently my look of perplexity must have been so profound that I drew the attention of one of the weak and ill-looking cows. We stared at each other for a moment and then she abruptly began to mosey over toward me. In the time that it took her to amble forth, I had ample time to ponder her predicament. Being a lover of all animals, I regularly talk to all forms of creatures from birds, to squirrels, to chipmunks. Not wanting to be considered disrespectful, I simply said, “Hello there cow. Why is it that you seem so ill and the cows on the other side of the fence look so well?”
As I mentioned, I regularly talk to animals but I have never had one respond to me...until now! The cow drew a slow and tired breath and began to tell me this story:
“Well sir, way back in time, I believe it was in the 1930’s, this farm was owned by a farmer by the name of Roo Sevelt. I believe he was from Hyde Park, NY, but that is not relevant to the story. Anyway, as a young boy, Mr. Sevelt had owned a young Holstein cow that he raised as a pet. Naturally, he had an affection for Holstein as he matured into an adult and bought this farm. On this farm there were many different varieties of cows including Holstein, Guernsey, and Jersey. Because of his predilection toward Holstein, Mr. Sevelt just naturally began offering them the most choice feed and the most choice grazing. He would bring them into the barn in the winter and would offer them the shade in the summer. Naturally, as a result of this preferential treatment, the Holsteins began to become the highest producers of milk. Mr. Sevelt still continued to milk all of us cows, but our production was continually sliding downward.
As years passed, Mr. Sevelt began to think that it might be nice to leave the farming to a younger man and perhaps take up fly fishing. In 1968, Mr. Sevelt sold the farm to Elbee Johnson. Mr. Johnson, while a farmer by profession, did not care much for us animals. He was really only concerned with the business and his financial bottom line. Shortly after he arrived on the farm, he initiated a policy whereby any cow who was to be housed or fed in the barn must produce at least 8 gallons of milk per day. Of course, you can guess how that went. The Holsteins had been treated with such privilege for so many years that their healthy lifestyle could afford them this great degree of production. The milk production from us Guernsey and Jersey had continually decreased to around 4-5 gallons per day. There was just no way that we could catch up and produce the volumes that Mr. Johnson was now demanding.
As a result, Mr. Johnson decided that we would no longer be a part of his farming plan. He made many attempts to sell us off to other farmers in the area, but by this time everyone in the region had heard about our failing milk production and wanted nothing to do with us. Being just a bit above barbaric, Mr. Johnson decided to let us live out our lives here on the farm. Of course, he did not want us to intermingle with the high-producing Holsteins, so he built this fence far away from the barn. We are forced to survive only on what we can graze from this field and the winters here are awful. As we became increasingly emaciated and ill, Mr. Johnson was more concerned about the well-being of his prize Holsteins. In order to ensure that there was never any accidental integration between the two herds, Mr. Johnson painted the fence posts red as a clear warning. And now, there is just no reasonable way that will ever allow us to catch up and become a part of the Holstein herd. We are destined to exhaust away in this redlined wasteland.”
I have to admit, this story left me speechless (not the part about the talking cows, but their actual story). I stood there with my mouth agape, and I must say that, for a moment, I thought about just easing myself back into my car and blissfully driving away. As much as that would have been the easier thing to do, I guess I am just not that kind of guy. So I asked the cow, “Is there anything that I can do to help?”
The cow looked at me with what I can only say was a surprise just short of resignation. He took a very slow and very deep breath and said, “Sir, you can tell our story!”
And that is why I am writing this today...
If you want to learn more about the history of redlining in America, here are a couple things to check out:
https://www.npr.org/2017/05/03/526655831/a-forgotten-history-of-how-the-u-s-government-segregated-america
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o-yD0wGxAc
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