Dream A Dairy Farming Dream
I look back fondly on one of the many times I swam the River of Righteous Bollocks like a crocodile looking for an antelope to hug. With its teeth. I had a case of misplaced (how else?) jingoism showing itself via a conviction that I was standing up ‘for the right thing’. I don’t blame myself for thinking so. I wasn’t alone in this belief, but this is my story (ours actually, Mani and I) of walking the road, furiously following the scent of what was perceived as ‘the right thing’, only to find ourselves somewhere else entirely. Rewind to 6 years ago. It began with wanting to set up a dairy farming unit (easy enough?) only to chance upon several things we weren’t prepared for. Information on the decline of the local breeds of cows, how dairy farming was increasingly starting to look like industrial machine complexes everywhere, instead of the farmer/herder-animal keeping relationship, and what the use of cow dung and urine meant for something called ‘natural farming’. We were very tak
