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On the Stryk Jersey Farm, in Engle, Texas, the situation also was tense. By fall, the hay barn was empty -- a first in Darlene and Bob Stryk's 26-year marriage. And the pond was mud, also a first since the Stryk family purchased the farm in 1882. Every three or four days, they filled a 1,500-gallon water tank for the heifers. Each time, they prayed the well wouldn't dry up too. They already knew drought. It nearly ran them out of business in 1996. Then, hay was expensive, and milk was cheap. Darlene Stryk took a "town" job, wandering around the state with a cow in a truck, teaching children about dairy operations. Bob Stryk worked as a mechanic. Their debt was enormous. Something had to change, or all would be lost. They cut their herd from 140 dairy cows to 25 and launched Strykly Texas Cheese, covering blocks of cheddar shaped like Texas, jalapenos and cowboy boots with wax by hand to fill gift baskets. As the business grew, they gradually built their herd back up to 60 head. A neighbor's bull jumped the fence, and a small beef herd was born. Each year, though, milk sales failed to cover the animals' feed costs, and they had to transfer money from the burgeoning cheese business to make up the difference. So, in 2006, they got a state license to sell raw, or unpasteurized, non-homogenized milk, to a niche market of people often interested in organic products and buying directly from farms. Despite the health risks associated with drinking unpasteurized milk, which can contain harmful bacteria, the Stryks were confident in their business plan. They drink their own milk and undergo rigorous state inspections to keep their license. Within three years, the Stryks, able to earn about double by selling directly to consumers rather than wholesalers, stopped selling to large dairies. They started making their own cheese. They sold grass-fed beef. Then, in 2010, the rain stopped again. Grass dried up and hay prices skyrocketed. It was time, again, to decide. "We had to sell all our beef cattle because it was either feed the Jerseys, who were able to produce milk daily and give us financial security, versus a beef herd, which you only sell a calf once a year," Darlene Stryk explained. A week later, it rained. "And basically, it's been raining ever since," Darlene Stryk said with a touch of irony. "We rolled the dice, and Mother Nature won once again." Now, the pastures are green. The creeks are full, but the land is still fragile. Cattle prices are rising,
but the Stryks, too, aren't yet willing to invest in a beef herd that will cost more than the one they sold. They are thankful for the steady sales of raw milk and cheese that saved them. It was, they believe, customer loyalty, the intimacy created when people buy their product directly from the farm, that kept them afloat this time. "We would not be in the dairy business if it had not been for the retail raw milk permit," Stryk explained. And so, they wait, and heal along with the land.
[Associated
Press;
Copyright 2012 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
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