SAMUEL added our order up on an old, battery-operated calculator. He wore a serious, business-like expression, as if to say, “I’m used to these money transactions.” Samuel was only 13. Surely, this must still be new to him.

That was the first time we went to his family’s farm in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania to buy meat, milk, cheese and a few other things. We’ve been there a number of times since Lockdown America began, but yesterday was only the second-time that we were waited on by Samuel. He again pulled the calculator out of a drawer in the battered, metal desk and performed his accounting.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said, now less the businessman and more just a curious, skinny, brown-haired boy in muddy boots and pants. He walked with us out to the gravel parking lot.

“Would you like to see the animals?”

We said we would love to see them. Samuel then began an impromptu tour of his kingdom of fields still green in December and shabby, well-used buildings. Here was a kingdom so far from shuttered businesses, hand sanitizer dispensers, stolen elections and even inventions like the automobile as to seem on another planet.

Samuel is Amish and his father prides himself on not running a large, factory farm. There is no electricity or tractors. The cows are grass-fed and free-roaming. There are also chickens, pigs, rabbits and ducks. Goats, sheep, camel and water buffalo — all adding to the products sold here — are raised nearby. Lush vegetable gardens surround the large farm house in season. We passed a pony named “Glider” in a field and one of the family dogs. We headed to the pig barn.

If you have ever thought pigs do not richly deserve their reputation for being — well, pigs, I advise you to visit a small-scale farm like this. About 15 adult pigs were in a pen outside the barn, wallowing in thick, black mud and grunting loudly. You would think they were in a bed of liquid chocolate, not dirt, so happy and busy did they seem in their brown puddle. Samuel explained that they actually eat the mud. And some were indeed pushing the mud around with their huge snouts and shoveling it into their mouths. So this is what makes bacon taste so good.

I asked him if they ever were aggressive with each other. They sure looked scary and he said, yes, pigs do fight and sometimes kill each other. Ah, so Charlotte’s Webb does not tell the whole story. I never want to meet a pig in a back alley.

We went into the actual pig barn where there were at least 100 more pigs, the full grown ones separated from the small ones. The smell was overwhelming — argument enough, I would think, for the faint of heart to be vegan. I asked Samuel if he got used to the smell, and he just said matter-of-factly and without complaint, “Not really.”

A few very sweet little pigs were sadly struggling for breath in a separate pen and Samuel explained that they had pneumonia. He said this kind of sickness was rare.

Visiting a real farm is a cure for the common tendency of city and suburban people to romanticize farming, which involves endless drudgery, long hours and constant hassles. And that was true of our visit as I tried to imagine escorting any of the bigger pigs out of their pen. Samuel explained where he put them to await butchering.

We passed his twin sisters — never have I seen two human beings who looked so alike — and stopped for a minute to chat with them. He then took us to the cow barn, which included a small, dark, mud-encrusted room with cages of the most pure white, fluffy rabbits I have ever seen. Kittens jumped up on the cages.

Most of the cows were outside but a few, including one that had just been born a few days ago, were in stalls. We went to the milking room. Samuel explained that he gets up every morning at no later than 4 a.m., sometimes earlier, to milk the 50 cows. If they are outside, they are brought in and each goes to his own stall. They are given some molasses-laced straw. Samuel attaches a small, diesel-operated pump to the cows in turn. He then takes the milk to a room with stainless steel equipment where he pours it through a filter. All the milk at the farm is sold raw, without pasteurization.

I could have spent hours here learning about the farm life, but we knew chores were pressing. I asked Samuel if he wanted to farm when he grows up.

He said, “No, I don’t like farming.”

“Oh, what do you want to do?”

“I like horses,” he said.

— Comments —

Mrs. T. writes:

I enjoyed your post on Samuel and the farm. We also purchase raw milk from a lovely, Catholic family only 20 minutes from us.

Most of their seven children are gone, only two left now at home who are young adults, busy with their own lives. The farmer and his wife affectionately refer to my littles as their grandchildren.

We visit once a week on the regularly scheduled day to pick up our milk and the owners are always eager to show us the animals. I take this as a good sign, considering they have nothing to hide.

And you’re right. There is nothing romantic about farm life. While the owners are certainly tender toward their animals and it is apparent that the cows are well cared for, it is no easy life. Especially when you visit in the spring. Everything caked in mud! It is a tedious job to wash the utters before pumping. In fact, it’s not uncommon to get slapped with a tail full of mud! They charge a high price for their quality milk, but considering the work involved, it’s well earned. Nothing beats the taste of fresh milk from a jersey cow. Especially in the spring when the cows have been grazing on new greens and the cream produces a wonderful, golden butter.

Laura writes:

That’s wonderful.

Raw milk, cheese and other products from grass-fed cows are incredibly good and satisfying. Many people find them easier to digest than pasteurized dairy. They are definitely worth the extra money. And it’s great for your children to visit a working farm.

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