Hello Anonymous

I want to address the person who is making comments to my blog anonymously. You say you "went to school with the Kupris kids," who worked this farm before me. You want me to give credit to the brother who moved to Tennessee where he has been successfully farming. I would love to give him credit but I have no idea who he is. Is he Sister Bernadette's twin brother? I don't know his name or anything about him but I wish him well. Farming is the toughest job there is. Most of us are hanging on by a thread. If I make any statements that offend you or anyone else I apologize. I sit down and write, mostly in a stream of consciousness, because I feel that any farmer has multiple stories to tell of courage, loss, defeat, anguish, and the euphoria that comes when there is some success to show for our efforts. As for your comment on "why don't I talk about the dead animals I throw out the barn door," well, what else am I supposed to do with them? Animals die and they have to transported to the dead pile. I don't want to leave them with the healthy ones. I left little Larry where he died for a day and the chickens started pecking at him. I took him out to the truck and right to the boneyard. The coyotes will do their work. There's lots of protein and minerals in that little body and many wild creatures will benefit. The Kupris's tell me stories about their dairy farming experiences that just rip my guts out. Farming is a series of highs and lows, and the lows can be devastating. I grieve for each and every death on this farm. Who are you to tell me to have respect when you have no idea what I go through on a daily basis? I gave up a tenured job at a classy New Jersey high school, just 30 miles west of Manhattan, to give farming a go. I lived in a small trailer where two electric heaters didn't make the temp go over 40 F. inside. I woke up with my hair frozen to the wall of the trailer, but still managed to keep a whole lot of sheep and goats alive the first winter while holding down a teaching job in Norwich. There were no hot casseroles delivered to my door here in Brookfield, but I stayed and I made it work. Please tell me your name and give me some way to get in touch with you so we can talk face to face. You have the advantage here. You know all about me but I know nothing about you. Are you tiptoeing around my farm when I'm not here? I lay it all out on a daily basis at risk of being maligned for the sake of documenting a good story and keeping my family appraised of my situation. Read my blog if you want to. If you don't like what you read please, don't tune in.