For centuries, dairy farming has been a viable option for supporting a rural lifestyle. Running a small operation of about two dozen cattle was enough to support a family. Since large corporations took control of the industry with higher production rates and incredibly low costs, the small town dairy farmer fades away.
In 2010 Paul sat down and wrote ten pages in a brand new spiral notebook. He reflected on his life and his land shortly after being diagnosed with terminal colon cancer.
Driving through Harrison County, you will not find a shortage empty retired dairy farms and old barns. The decline of the industry is defined more in the people that are affected rather than statistics on paper. Humble families have raised cows for milk for hundreds of years. Now, if you’re a dairy farmer you will most likely have another job to support the farm. The idea that the people who built the industry are being pushed out by factory farms is egregious. America was built by farmers motivated to feed their fellow neighbor. Hardworking farmers like Paul who are devoted to their craft will do anything to continue their dream and keep the rest of the industry alive.
With the current climate of the dairy industry, farmers like Paul struggle to turn a profit. Some days, Colson loses as much as $50 milking his cows due to increasing equipment and feed cost. The milk man collecting dairy products from farms all throughout central Kentucky also takes a loss traveling to Paul’s farm in Cynthiana, about 30 miles north of Lexington. The 300 gallons Paul collects from his 24 Brown swiss cows every other day seems miniscule compared to factory farms such as Dean’s who produced 2 billion gallons of milk in 2017 according to the annual Dean Foods Report. That being said, the effort that a small dairy requires is arduous. After the two hour milking process, the equipment is sterilized, the cows are all turned out to the field, and the parlor is mopped. Once this is done, Paul completes various tasks such as spreading manure, tedding, mowing and baling hay, and tending to his over 1,500 tomato plants. Colson makes sure to plant extra vegetables every summer to give to his neighbors and friends.
“If I quit milking, I could live good, but it’s hard to give up your family.” Colson has a familial bond with his animals. Each cow has a name and is spoken to like you would another person, “Come on, Whitney,” said Paul, while searching for his cows in the woods for over an hour one afternoon. He is the leader of two dozen, fifth generation cows. Ancestors of his current cows link back to his father’s herd in the 1950s. He has a great passion for his job, but that does not come without frustration. Last December, Paul turned over a backhoe and dislocated his shoulder. Since then, it has been a struggle for him to keep up with the 1,400 pound animals. Though he is not without help, his neighbor, Randy Cole, who assists Paul with petting zoos said,“he’s a character...I’ve never seen someone who works harder than Paul and asks for less in return.”
Joe Colson was once asked how old his son was when he started milking, his response was, “I don’t think Paul started milking until he was about two.” Colson’s father taught him and his siblings everything about life on a farm. To care for each and every animal like they are your family. To always be kind and to improve on what you already have. Growing up on the dairy, Paul had four brothers and a sister. When they were young they woke at the break of dawn to milk before school. When the kids saw the school bus pass by the farm once, they knew there was only fifteen minutes to clean up before the bus circled back. Once it was time for Paul to be on his own, he decided to stay in the family business and take care of his own herd at Colson’s Hope Swiss Farm. Dairy farming is in the Colson Family’s blood. Paul and his brothers have each owned their own dairies in Kentucky and Mississippi. Paul is the last of his kin still working in the dairy industry.
Paul works through uncertainty to maintain his way of life. While battling cancer in the hospital, Colson said that, “I floated between Heaven and Hell for seven hours, Heaven didn’t want me and Hell was full.” Paul’s outlook on life is one of grace and whimsy. He sees everyday as a gift and an opportunity to positively impact the lives around him.
Credits:
Michael Johnson