Koerbers leave dairy operation on their terms after four decades

Paul Koerber could tell a thousand stories about his dairy farm just outside Gordonville. Stories about family. Stories about the teenaged farmhands he's hired. Stories about cows. Weather events. How the corn is cut. How the cows are milked. How the industry has changed.

He sits in the driver's side seat of his all-terrain Ranger, reminiscing. His wife, Bernice, sits on the back porch steps, listening and adding to the conversation here and there. Their grandson is running around the yard.

Paul is finalizing plans to sell off most of the rest of his cows. He and his family are stepping away from the Koerber Dairy business on their terms. It's time. For their entire adult lives, Paul and Bernice have produced milk for the masses, some 800 gallons a day when things were going well. This farm off Highway 25 has produced milk for 41 years, a time span in which Paul and Bernice went on exactly three vacations together.

The Koerber family, which includes three daughters and a son, Justin, who lives just up the lane and operates his own fabricating business, has managed to keep the small dairy operation going against huge odds. All the big advantages for dairy operations lean toward mega-operations that can operate on thin margins because of the volume of milk they produce. That makes it difficult for small operations to compete. Paul doesn't complain about it. He has found a way.

He explains how frugality has kept the farm going for so long. A look around the place demonstrates this. The buildings surrounding the back of his house all have a purpose; they're all useful, but nothing looks new. Some of them will be torn down soon, now that the cows are leaving. He begins to talk about tractors, as an example of how he made ends meet. A lifetime on the farm has given him insight on how tractors should sound and how they should feel when driving them. Looks don't matter.

Paul Koerber examines equipment at his dairy operation near Gordonville.Bob Miller

Paul Koerber examines equipment at his dairy operation near Gordonville.Bob Miller

"You can't be in love with paint," he explains. "It's what's under the hood that counts."

He doesn't realize he's describing himself.

He was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1995. He'd had symptoms for far longer. MS is a disease that affects the central nervous system. As he describes it, his body doesn't always do what his brain tells it to do.

The body is a bit rough, but there is nothing wrong with his motor. Perseverance and dogged determination kept him in the game. There were discussions about getting out years and years ago, when he was diagnosed.

The hardest part of the day isn't getting up before dawn, or cleaning up after the cows. The hardest part is getting on his tractor. He just about can't do it anymore.

"MS is something to deal with," Paul says. "But it's not cancer. We've been blessed."

Helping hands

Paul has leaned on family, friends, farmhands and even other dairy farmers to keep the milk flowing over the years. Justin took over the actual milking of the cows. Twice a day. Every day. No exceptions. Justin said he is looking forward to not having to go out every morning at 4:30, to complete the two-hour job. He remembers trudging out to milk the cows, even when he was very sick.

"People don't understand that," Justin said. "Twice a day. Every day. No exceptions."

Bernice is the bookkeeper of the operation, but she chips in with the labor, too. In fact, she milked the cows the evening before giving birth to Justin. She said the concrete floors are getting harder on her legs. A vertical scar on her knee demonstrates her resolve, too. She's had knee surgery. She, too, is ready for a break.

While MS reduced his abilities somewhat, Paul took on roles he could manage, including cleaning the barns, breeding the cows, plus all the odd jobs and maintenance in between. It's a day that starts at a quarter till 5 in the morning and ends sometime around 6 or 7 in the evening, with a few breaks during the day.

He says MS does affect his mental acuity at times. He said on occasions when his wife asks why something didn't get done, he'll reply, "You'll have to talk to that old man. He didn't get around to it."

He is wearing a bright green shirt and jean shorts, a ballcap and eyeglasses. The glasses are modern looking, and there's something about his face that gives him a boyish look.

He uses a cane as he climbs over a concrete step and into the barn he cleans every day. He explains how the barn used to be much more full. It looks lonely now, just a dozen or so cows left. Most of the cows were sold and moved out in recent days. The barn itself has seen better times. Koerber has no plans to sell the land he owns or lease the buildings. He'll tear down what's not needed to save on insurance and taxes.

Four decades ago when the Koerbers purchased the land, a person could stroll down the gravel lane, and up to the top of the hill, turn in a circle and see dairy farms in all directions. Bernice begins ticking off the last names of dairy farmers she remembers from those times. She stops counting after 13.

Paul was born into this life. He said his mother would tell the story of how, when he was just a toddler, they'd put him inside 5-gallon buckets so he wouldn't run off while they were milking the cows. Eventually, he inherited the farm from his parents, then moved to Jersey Lane off Highway 25 in 1981.

He started with 30 cows, and a small number of stalls. He grew the farm slowly over time, with every purchase made with the intent that it would make money. He walked away from many tractors he'd like to have purchased. He remained disciplined, only buying what was needed. One investment after another, one cow after another, the Koerbers' operation would, at its peak, own about 115 cows.

Paul is a talker, quick to share memories, but he repeats several times he's not being boastful. He is a man proud of the work he's done and the growth the farm saw over the years. He did so working 12-hour days for a lifetime, while using spare parts and ingenuity to keep old tractors running and milkers milking. He somehow managed to keep the farm going when the drought in 2012 made harvesting and buying food for his livestock nearly impossible.

"That was a hard year," he said.

But he loved the work, which he describes as like a hobby.

He and his family spent thousands of hours in cornfields harvesting food for their cows. Every morning, every evening and all hours in between, they worked to keep the milk moving.

"I would never have dreamed we would have come out as good as we did 41 years ago," he said.

The timing is right to sell his remaining cows. In order to continue operating, he would need to invest tens of thousands of dollars in upgrades on the farm. He simply didn't want to take on the debt at this stage. Plus, the MS, which is getting increasingly bothersome, makes the work even harder.

Paul said he'll keep a few cows out in the pasture for meat. There will be enough work to do on the farm to keep him occupied, but the daily dairy demands are coming to a close.

There is a sense of nostalgia in the words and voices of the Koerber family, but not regret or sadness. The hot sun doesn't mix well with Paul's medication. He won't miss the pain. Neither will Bernice.

After four decades of relentless work, the Koerbers are satisfied to let their bodies recover while there's still plenty of horsepower under the hood.