Built in 1949, just four years after the end of World War II, this barn served my family and countless communities with fresh milk until 1970. It stood as a testament to the hard work and resilience of small family farms—farms that once formed the backbone of American agriculture. But as corporate farming took over, family-owned dairies like ours were pushed out of business, a shift that I believe reflects much of what went wrong in American society.
Today, we find ourselves in a moment of reckoning, trying to rediscover what it means to nourish both our bodies and our communities. The decline of small farms like this one began decades ago, and with each loss, we moved further away from a healthier, more sustainable way of life.
Now, after 76 years, this barn—this piece of my family’s history—faces its final days. Soon, the concrete foundation will be uprooted, the rafters dismantled, and the remnants of the old milking system reduced to dust. The structure that once echoed with the sounds of cows in their stalls, the clang of milk pails, and the voices of my family will be gone forever.
I am deeply saddened by its impending demolition. While I understand that change is an inevitable part of life, watching a place so full of memories vanish doesn't make it any easier.
Very soon, this barn—once a familiar sight in the foothills of the Appalachians near the Coosa River—will meet its fate at the hands of the wrecking ball. As I stand here watching the sunset on February 25, 2025, I can’t help but reflect on the passing of time.
In one of the greatest books, The City of God, St. Augustine reminds us that "anything man builds will surely fall to ruin, but the City of God is eternal." His words weigh heavily on me now as I witness the end of something that once felt permanent.
For 76 years, this barn stood as more than just a structure—it was a place of work, a source of sustenance, and a gathering spot for my family. I spent much of my youth here, alongside my cousins, tending to the cows, feeding them at the trough, and guiding them into the chute for dehorning and vaccinations. It was hard work, but it was honest work.
So, the next time you wonder why food prices are rising or why shortages seem more frequent, remember this: for 55 years, small farms like the Fuhrman Dairy ensured that there was always milk on your table. Progress comes at a cost, and in agriculture, that cost has been the loss of family farms to corporate consolidation. But when it comes to food, diversity is strength—not consolidation.
Over the years, I’ve watched this barn transition through various states—sometimes in disrepair, sometimes restored for new purposes. But now, its fate is sealed. Soon, it will be nothing more than a memory, a chapter closed in the history of my family.
And as I watch the sunset over the Appalachian foothills one last time, I can’t help but wonder—maybe this is just part of the process. Maybe this is what progress looks like. But at what cost?
Darryl Fuhrman
Lettermen of the USA 🇺🇸
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