'I had one day off in June'
Farming is a never-ending job
PIERZ - Country music and the rhythmic clicking of a dairy pulsater pervaded the Woitalla dairy barn, bright and early on a Wednesday morning in August as Russ Woitalla started at the east end of the long building and worked his way west.
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Lined up in their stalls were 50 cows, their udders filled with milk, dutifully waiting for Woitalla to perform his twice-daily milking ritual at the rural Pierz farm.
Woitalla, 25, moved swiftly and efficiently, chatting with visitors but never breaking stride in a task that clearly was second nature to him. With each cow he attached the suction-powered milker to the teats of the cow. The cows stood on 2-inch rubber mats, to minimize hoof problems.
Dark clouds rolled by the Platte Lake Township dairy barn where the Woitallas milk 50 cows, twice a day, every day. Brainerd Dispatch/Kelly Humphrey
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The music selection, billed as "today's best country," was decided by the milker, not the he milked.
"I guess they don't have no choice," he said of the cows and his choice of radio stations.
The process started about 6:15 a.m. at the Woitalla farm on Crow Wing County Road 23 and there was no rescheduling the cows to a more convenient time. Milking time is pretty much set in stone and is as consistent as the sunrise.
It doesn't matter if it's Christmas or if there's a family emergency or if the milker is coming down with the flu. The cows have to be milked twice a day.
"If you're late they'll be hollering," he said. "They'll let you know."
While the cows are being milked, the raw dairy product runs through lines to a 650-gallon tank that's emptied every other day by Wayne Kroll of Kroll Trucking.
Just as the cows must be milked without fail, the milk must be picked up and delivered to Melrose.
"I had one day off in June," Kroll said as he hooked up the connection between his truck and Woitalla's tank.
The room that holds the milk storage tank has hoses leading from the barn, paperwork related to the dairy operation and small magnets on the walls that advertise agri-businesses ("Dairyland Hoof Care - A lifetime of dairy and hoof knowledge. Call for all your hoof trimming needs.")
Woitalla's alarm had gone off at around 5:15 a.m. Fortunately, he lives about a quarter of a mile from the dairy barn in a house he and his brother built in 2004.
"I'm here within five minutes," he said of his rural countryside commute.
The barn is a just a short walk from his boyhood home, where his parents, Ed and Gloria Woitalla, still live. His parents are partners with their son in the dairy operation, an arrangement that's not uncommon given the enormous startup costs involved with a dairy farm.
Ed and Gloria Woitalla began their dairy operation about 42 years ago. Their family was named 2001 Farm Family of the Year. Since Russ joined the enterprise, his father still works with the cows, but his mother took a job at Grand Casino Mille Lacs.
Before the cows were milked they were fed a mixture that had been analyzed and recommended by a dairy nutritionist. In varying amounts the feed included a hay/corn mix, corn silage, soybeans, oats. Cows eat 70 to 80 pounds of feed a day.
Extra care must be taken in the feeding of the young calves, who receive a high protein corn and oat mix and milk.
As in any business, expenses that get out of control can eat up profits. Fuel costs, combined with low milk prices, have made dairy farming a real challenge this year. And there are expenses that go beyond the tractors and other machinery city folks might notice as they drive rural highways.
Russ Woitalla escorted one of his Holsteins back to the barn for milking. Woitalla's herd of 50 milking cows is smaller than the average dairy farm, which might have about 120 milking cows. Brainerd Dispatch/Kelly Humphrey
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Russ Woitalla has a veterinarian visit the farm once a month. There's an agronomist he consults with once or twice a year. He talks with a nutritionist once a month to make sure the cows are getting the proper feed. In the winter Woitalla attends University of Minnesota Extension classes to keep up to date on the latest research.
The Woitalla dairy operation of 50 milking cows is smaller than the average herd which Russ Woitalla said is probably about 120 milking cows. They count milk prices to be high, at least in some years, so that payments on equipment can be made.
Woitalla blamed the low prices this year on a drop in dairy exports and in the demand for cheese.
Another way to save money is to fix your own equipment, when possible. That can be a time-consuming job when there are eight tractors and a host of other machines to keep running.
"That's way too many moving parts," he said. "Technology is nice but there's always something to fix."
Milk prices go up and down and they were in a down cycle in early August. Woitalla said prices at that point were about $10 per hundred-weight compared to about $19 per hundred-weight in 2008.
Woitalla's barn is well ventilated and well lit. While the side rooms with milking machinery and water have heat the livestock area doesn't. Even on the coldest Minnesota mornings, the body temperatures of 50 cows keeps the barn at least 40 degrees. In the summer, heat stress is a concern for the livestock but Woitalla said the temperature usually doesn't get above 70 degrees.
His cows are numbered, not named, but Woitalla gets to know their distinct personalities. In particular, he gets to know those that are uncooperative and stubborn.
"Absolutely, you remember that one," he said. "We butt heads quite often."
When it's time to round them up the bovine creatures of routine usually file into the exact same stall in the barn each time.
"They're about as used to it as I am," he said of the routine.
Woitalla is the youngest of nine children and was likely the last chance to keep the farm in the family. None of his four brothers and four sisters chose agriculture for a career.
Looking as if she's posing for a picture, this Holstein cow was not bothered by visitors to the Woitalla dairy farm. Brainerd Dispatch/Kelly Humphrey
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While farming might not be for everyone, Woitalla had an interest in it, even as far back as his high school days. The early mornings and hard work that might discourage others were outweighed in Woitalla's mind by the chance to work outdoors, be close to his family and enjoy the independence of being his own boss.
"Nobody's looking over your shoulder," he said.
His workday, while demanding, featured moments that few desk-bound office workers would have the opportunity to enjoy. Those moments included: an impromptu rope tug-of-war with his kids, the sighting from his pickup of a doe with two fawns in his cornfield and giving his daughter a quick ride in the skid loader while he was feeding cows.
Woitalla's wife, Amber, grew up on a farm and fully understood what farm life entailed. As Russ Woitalla finished up with the morning milking he was joined by his wife and children, Kaylee, 2, and Nick, 1. She is expecting their third child in September.
"I loved growing up on a farm," she said, recalling her days of 4-H, FFA projects and showing pigs at the county fair.
She lived in Brainerd when she earned her accounting degree from Central Lakes College, but city life was not for her.
"It was just terrible," she recalled. "I couldn't stand the noise, constantly."
Her parents, Dale and Lori Thompson, operate a pig farm, east of Brainerd. She could see both sides when she was asked to take a position in the pigs vs. cows debate.
"Pigs are a lot easier," she said. "But smell-wise and that kind of stuff - cows."
Judging from reactions of her city friends who would visit her at the family farm, many of them would not have chosen a farmer's life.
"It would have been an adjustment," she said. "They were the ones covering their mouth (from the smell)."
Her own children have no such aversion to farm life. Kaylee and Nick enthusiastically donned their barn boots and helped their parents with chores. Both kids enjoy feeding the cows and Nick has had at least one close encounter with the long trough that carries the animal's waste out of the barn.
A dairy farmer can't be afraid of heights. Russ Woitalla climbed a 45-foot silo so he could try to fix an electric motor in a silo unloader. Brainerd Dispatch/Kelly Humphrey
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"He fell in there a couple of times," she said.
For her part, Kaylee has a favorite cow, a Holstein-Charolais mix, she enjoys feeding. Since she was used to the cows being numbered she named her favorite cow No. 6.
"She just picked No. 6," her mother explained, guessing that that might have been as far as she could count at the time.
Amber helped Russ Woitalla with the milking chores as far back as their high school days when they first started dating. They both graduated from Brainerd High School in 2002. They were married in 2005.
She remembers helping him with chores graduating in 2002. She works at In Motion Physical therapy in sout Brainerd four days a week. When she works in town a family friend takes care of the kids. On Wednesdays they stay home with her and she helps Russ.
Today they live in a bright, open three-bedroom house, which they built in 2004.
After milking Russ Woitalla cleans the barn and washes the milker. One milking usually yields about 1,500 pounds of milk, Russ said.
The next task is one the kids seem to particularly enjoy - feeding the calves. They range in age from two days to six weeks. The calves are fed milk for about eight weeks and then are fed a corn/high protein mixture.
After a short pancake breakfast break with his family Russ gets back to business. This day's tasks includes a trip to market - an 8-year-old cow has to be trucked to Clear Lake where it will be sold for slaughter. Cows are taken to market for a variety of reasons. Sometimes it's because of a lack of production. Russ said the average cow's life span is 5 to 6 years old.
Although keeping them healthy and happy is a priority, the Woitalla cows are their inventory. They're not pets.
"It's a business," he said. "If they die on the farm - that's a loss."
The trip to market cuts into Woitalla's work day and hauling his cow and one of his uncle's by trailer will use up a fair bit of gasoline.
"It will probably take 10 to 15 gallons on this run," he said.
In an effort to save money on gasoline, Russell and Ed Woitalla run their diesel pickup and five tractors on bio-diesel fuel, which comes from used soybean and canola cooking oil they pick up from restaurants. Their bio-diesel fuel costs them only $1 a gallon, bringing considerable savings to the farm operation.
Shortly after 10 a.m. Russ loaded his market-bound cow into a trailer and headed to the nearby farm of his uncle, Allen Woitalla, where he picked up another cow that would be sold.
As is often the case in farm regions, families and extended families tend to concentrate in one area. That's also true in southern Crow Wing County.
Russ offered the notion that if one took the Woitallas and the Schuberts out of the area, the population would be pretty scarce.
Russ and Amber Woitalla relaxed with their children, Kaylee (second from left), 2, and Nick, 1, after a late breakfast and after the morning milking was completed.
Brainerd Dispatch/Kelly Humphrey
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On the drive down to Clear Lake Russ recounted how he spent a summer driving a truck for Anderson Brothers Construction, before he decided to pursue dairy farming full time. He still uses those skills to supplement his farm income by working for his brother's construction crew. His most recent construction job was putting siding on an apartment building in Pierz for about six hours a day. Working for his brother gives him the flexibility to work construction around his milking schedule.
It's close to noon when Woitalla arrives at the St. Cloud National Farmers Organization Livestock Center.
He's greeted by Robert Hendrickson, regional director at the center, who immediately offers an assessment of Woitalla's cow.
"That's quite a lady," he said.
When the cow weighs in at 1,830 pounds, NFO marketing center office manager Julie Kunz, echoes Hendrickson's appraisal.
"That's a lot of cow," she said.
Hendrickson explained how producers such as Woitalla don't have time to research and negotiate the best prices for their livestock, so they rely on the NFO to do it for them.
Hendrickson said many non-farmers don't realize the number of people whose jobs rely on agriculture. People such as nutritionists, fleet support, insurance providers and equipment sales people.
Allowing NFO to get the best price for him, allows Woitalla to do what he does best, Hendrickson said.
"His job is to employ people and to feed people," Hendrickson said.
The problem of rising production costs and low prices hits Hendrickson, who is also a beef producer, too.
"With the economy the way it is, we're not going to see any profits," he said.
The price for Woitalla's cow was 88 cents a pound. Last year, Woitalla said, the price was more than a dollar a pound. The cows taken to Clear Lake are generally then taken to slaughterhouses in Nebraska, Iowa or Wisconsin.
"They really try to get us the cost of production plus profit," Russ said. "We try to stick with them through good and bad."
As much as he'd like to time his livestock sales perfectly, sometimes it's just time to sell.
"At some point you've got to let 'em go," Woitalla said. "It's a matter of when."
There's time for a quick lunch at the Clear Lake McDonald's before heading back to Platte Lake Township with an empty trailer. The fast-food stop is chosen because there's a spot along the side road where the pickup and long livestock trailer can be parked.
Back home, Woitalla checked his crops on his 360-acre farm, with acreage splits between crop land and pasture. He and his father raise 95 percent of their feed for the cows. They grow corn, alfalfa, oats and a little bit of clover.
The crops are rotated so the soil retains its nutrients.
"Corn uses nitrogen," Woitalla said. "Alfalfa uses potash. So it's a good rotation."
The Woitallas have about 360 acres of crop and pasture land in Crow Wing County. The milk barn is in Platte Lake Township. Additional acreage is in Daggett Brook Township. They don't irrigate so they're particularly hard hit if it's a dry summer. Russ Woitalla was fairly pleased with how his corn looked in August.
"Most of our ground is clay," he said. "It holds moisture."
While touring his fields Woitalla spots three sandhill cranes flying away. He doesn't complain about them but later in the afternoon Amber Woitalla expressed her dislike for the birds, who are protected, but who also can damage the crops.
"You try to scare them so they go somewhere but then they just go to your neighbors and he wouldn't like that," she said.
Neighbor, in a farmer's parlance, is a relative term.
"Your neighbor could be five miles away but he's still your neighbor," Amber said.
While her husband was traveling to Clear Lake, Amber fed the children lunch and worked in her garden, which includes fruit for jam, salsa, peppers, cilantro, onions, beans and cucumbers.
There are an unlimited number of chores that could be tackled between milkings but Russ has to keep an eye on his wrist watch knowing he can't get entangled into a project that's going to keep him from his No. 1 priority. He decided to enlist his wife's help to check the electrical switch in a silo's unloader.
He climbed the ladder outside of the 45-foot silo and entered it at the top and shouted down to his wife when he wanted her to turn on the motor's switch.
"It's on but it's not doing anything," she reported to him as she kept a watchful eye on the kids.
"OK, shut it off," he hollered from the top of the silo.
This is repeated several times as what Russ had hoped would be a short-lived task turned into a major project.
"Turn it on again," he shouted from the top of the silo.
"It's on," she said.
His tinkering was unsuccessful so Russ climbed down to find a rope so he could lower the 150-pound electric motor down along the side of the silo. He said he might have to take it in to an electric motor shop to be fixed.
Perhaps the key to any married couple working together is a good sense of humor. At one point Amber had to go underneath the suspended motor to untie a knot that had secured an extra rope that was no longer needed.
"Don't let go of that now," she told her husband, who was still on the top of the silo, holding the rope.
"I won't," he assured her. "I like you a little more than that."
Around 6 p.m. the cows are rounded up and the feeding and milking process is repeated. The barn floor, which was cleaned in the morning, was once again a mess after 50 cows traipsed in. Russ will clean it again after milking.
Because of milking chores, dinner is sometimes as late as 8 p.m. It's not long after that their kids are prepared for bed and Amber said she and her husband usually aren't very far behind them.
"It don't take long to fall asleep," he said.
On those rare occasions when Russ Woitalla is able to get away from his daily milking chores he doesn't sleep in until noon. Family vacations or Sunday recreation often involve putting his boat in the water with his family and trying to catch sunfish.
"I like to be doing something," he said. "If I can get up to milk cows, I can get up to do something I like.
MIKE O'ROURKE may be reached at mike.orourke@brainerddispatch.com or 855-5860.