DAIRY FARMING for City milk Supply

Korero (AEWS), Volume 2, Issue 17, 28 August 1944, Page 19

DAIRY FARMING for City milk Supply

By Lieutenant-Commander

Let me introduce you to Snowdrop, shown above surrounded by various friends and dependants. Snowdrop is a Friesian cow now in milk to her fourth calf. She gave 12,700 lb. of milk in the ten months of her last lactation. That is roughly 1,200 gallons of milk. People in Christchurch paid for Snowy’s milk, and I will show you later where that money and the. money paid for the milk from her twenty-nine herd mates has gone—whom it supports and how well it supports them. I want to try and show you other things about ordinary life on an ordinary dairy-farm : as much as I can within the limits of my space. If at the end even a few of the readers of Korero are convinced that dairy-farming is a life worth living, that will be the result most satisfactory to me and to the advantage of New Zealand generally. •To return to Snowy. Next to a super-

latively good wife, the dairy - farmers ’ chief need is for good cows. Snowy is the answer to every dairyman’s prayer : not a good looker, but a , good doer ; never ill or off colour or • fractious ; kind and tolerant of her sister cows and of human beings. Blossom, her second calf, has just completed her first season with a record' for the heifers of 950

gallons of milk. Dahlia, this season’s model, produced by Snowy to the designs of an Ayrshire gentleman, is now six weeks old, and looks as though she will keep up the family traditions. If I had thirty cows like Snowy I would be both rich and content. But such perfection is not achieved in much less than a lifetime. The breeding, feeding, caring for, and culling of a high productive herd call for qualities of judgment, skill, and determination that should make the successful farmer honoured above most of his fellows —if only we worked to a more rational standard of values. Before we come to the economics of dairy-farming, just a few more words about cows —for they are the machines whereby a few acres of good land can be made more productive, and therefore support more people, than any other form of farming save only the growing of a specialized intensive product. Cows

are interesting animals. They respond well to kind, careful, and regular treatment. Their individual peculiarities, which you cannot but learn as you handle them twice daily for month after month, are very entertaining. The staid old matron who insists on reserving her own particular spot in the yard where she stands while less important

cows are being milked. The fussy cow, the bossy cow; the hand-reared heifer who has never known hardships or ill treatment, whose back the smallest child can bestride in safety. For the man concerned with production rather than the selling of pedigree stock, looks don’t matter much. A deep frame, a kind eye, and a wellshaped udder are more to be desired than most show-ring points.

In this article I speak particularly of city-milk production, a branch of dairying that yields high returns but calls for 365 days of unremitting labour. Its high returns are partly offset by the high cost of land and of winter feeding. To give you an idea of those costs and returns I will set out roughly the figures for my own dairy-farm. In normal times it would employ the labour of myself and another man. Owing to my absence in my old Service during the last three years the farm has been short-handed —

using occasional out- /VL\/i jA side labour in my j/ ( /Z place. Now, the p-A \ really important /z\ /AW thing about any piece //\\l I\/ / of land is the number II HI y of people — not of 11 uU I / \ cows or pigs or x sheep— it will « T he rea ilerappea support. The net cash income has to be divided amongst owner, employee, retailer, mortgagee. What comes in cash is not the whole story, however. The value of cheap fuel and farm products and often material and spiritual health which comes with good country life must be taken into account. In . round figures the position under the new guaranteed price for milk is as follows :—

Area —65 acres, of which 50 are heavy alluvial soil. Stock —30 cows, with 6 heifers, 6 calves, bull, &c. Estimated output for 1944-45 season —6O gallons a day. Total retail value of milk —£2,160. That sum of money represents the direct or indirect support of a large number of people. To get rid of the indirect beneficiaries first. Rates, taxes, insurance, seeds, manure, repairs, and

other maintenance charges amount to around £4OO. Next comes the dairyman with his wife and six small children, who draw roughly £250. In addition they get house, vegetables, milk, and firewood free, and meat at an average of 3d. a pound. With family allowance they are reasonably secure. Now we come to a very sad and strange state of affairs. The retailer appears on the scene.

Out of the 2s. a gallon paid by the consumer, the retailer gets nfd., or £1,050, on an average round of 60 gallons a day. For that he has to erect a small dairy building to house his milk and wash his cans. He owns an 8 h.p. car with an open back from which he delivers the milk, and he works at most six hours a day, including his book-keeping. Thanks to the war and zoning, his delivery cost is down by about 3d. a gallon, so that, at a moderate es-

timate, £6OO of his £1,050 is clear profit. I like my “ milkie.” He has a good sense of humour and we often have a good laugh over what a mug I am to have all the capital cost of the farm — all the wnrnr work an

expense —and then the dairyman and myself combined draw considerably less than he pockets. This anomaly must be cleared up before long, but I would advise every prospective dairyman who is near a city to aim at having his own retail round.

Here is the present distribution of the produce of Snowdrop and her mates tabulated and drawn by our artist. Except for the anomaly of the retail profit, this is a fairly satisfactory state of affairs. Of course, should the farm be mortgaged to its full value it would have to support a mortgage and I, as nominal owner, would be unable to make a living. The obvious remedy, which will allow a man with small capital to enter dairying, is to balance up producing and retailing profits so that the retailer makes, say, £3O0 —a very good return for his short hours and small responsibilities.

Hours of Work The dairyman works, roughly, sixty hours a week ; 0500 to about 1700, with two hours for meals from Monday to Friday. Saturday morning, milking only. Sunday, both milkings and any necessary feeding out in winter. The owner should be prepared to work at least the same length of hours, including

his vegetable garden (most important) and house chores. Up to thirty cows machine-milked can be handled by one man, but two are desirable if full justice is to be done to washing, stripping, attention to sore teats, bad quarters, newly-calved cows, &c. We weigh every cow’s milk once a month now, but when I am again full time on the job will

revert to the greater accuracy of twice a month. Weighing and recording is absolutely vital. No one can judge how a cow is milking by watching the machines. It adds enormously to the interest and is the foundation of all culling and improvement. The hours worked may seem long by city standards, but, except for the regularity of milking, the work is varied and healthy. There is the continual interest of growth and planning for the future. Every calf is a potential champion. The cropping programme and final regrassing of each paddock as we

turn it over is a source of endless thought and argument. Every planting of a hedge or tree seedling means laying down a distant future return in shelter, firewood, or timber. A word about sidelines. The vegetable garden, the orchard, the pigs to fatten in

the flush of spring milk are all vital to farm economy. Our food costs still average around ios. a week for all sixteen mouths on the farm—this figure includes all farm produce at cost except vegetables. Compare our cost with the Services’ average of 225. per week per head achieved on vastly greater numbers. Fowls must be kept, and sometimes there is a small surplus of produce to sell. “ Oh, happy countryman,” said the Roman poet Virgil—probably writing from his snug villa in the city. When milk wars and commissions are not troubling us: when thoughts of contagious

abortion and mammitis do not disturb our sleep: when the weather is reasonable and seasonable —I agree with him. Anyway, 1 am laying odds that, in the postwar world, the country man is going to be a good deal happier and more secure than his fellow-townsman .