I didn’t
exactly grow up on a dairy farm, but because life in
eastern Montana meant a quick trip to town for fresh
milk took a half-day, my parents decided to purchase
a milk cow. We northsiders lived off the land long
before it was trendy. Dad found us a new milk cow
named Swiss, at a small ranch in Wyoming, so all the
family road-tripped it to the foot of the Big Horns,
loaded the old girl in the back of our 1960 Willys,
cabover pickup and headed home to Montana. It was a
redneck family outing. Unfortunately, like a sheep
born looking for a place to die, our temperamental
Jeep broke down regularly and on this trip, the fuel
line jiggled loose at the fuel pump. Noticing our
fuel gauge was nearing empty, but unaware as to the
cause, Dad filled up in Forsyth which gave us just
enough gas to almost make it home.
North of Vananda, the pickup sputtered to a stop, so
Dad to hoofed it the last five miles to the ranch.
This left Mom, me, my two brothers and one
tight-bagged milk cow waiting for his return. Mom
was born and raised a city kid, so being stranded on
the desolate, gumbo flats with three squirming boys
and a bawling cow anxious to be milked were stimuli
she had not yet been conditioned to enjoy. Had there
been a blue-heeler and a couple chickens in the cab,
the scene had the makings of a great country-western
song. Many marriages in eastern Montana only survive
their early years because town is too far of a walk
for a lactating mother packing toddlers plus a
loaded suitcase. Over time Mom learned to love the
unique flavor of ranch life.
Although I was raised on it, I never really acquired
a taste for raw milk because its flavor varied with
whatever forage was hearty enough to poke through
the alkali hardpan around the barnyard. Had Swiss
been fed a controlled ration of corn and alfalfa
rather than wild onion and wild parsnip she might
have produced a more consistently palatable product.
She wasn’t, so she didn’t, so my experience with raw
milk is tainted and here is why I mentioned this.
House Bill 245, the raw milk bill, has been
introduced into the Montana Legislature eliciting
fireworks far more predictable than the taste of raw
milk itself. Advocates for HB245 will swamp the
capitol espousing the health benefits of
unpasteurized milk in addition to claiming it is a
freedom issue. Opponents, typically producers of
Grade A pasteurized milk, will warn of raw milk’s
potential public health risks. Their concern being
an outbreak of undulant fever sweeping the headlines
will equally taint both raw and Grade A milk rather
than targeting the true problem; the free-roaming
and Brucellosis infected bison of Yellowstone
National Park. (I thought I’d provoke the illogical
passions of leftist extremists since I am termed out
and no longer have to sit through senseless and
endless public hearings.) This brings me to my
point.
I predict there will be more e-mails and phone calls
delivered to legislators on raw milk alone than on
the total of those concerning Obamacare’s crippling
and costly Medicaid Expansion, Pre-K government
indoctrination of our youngest children, and the
Confederated Salish-Kootenai Water Compact
confiscation of property rights. This is scary. If
you spend all your efforts fighting either side of
the raw milk bill you might be suffering
battle-fatigue when the truly dangerous issues reach
the legislative floor. Save your ammo for where it
is critically needed.
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