The New Company Store

Dad was a tenant farmer, never satisfied him, longed for land of his own. Mom was a farm wife, more by fate than choice. A homemaker, more by default than desire. Did far more than cook, clean and tend the kids. Helped in the barn every day and in the fields when needed, kept the books, juggled the finances, without complaint. Her life was not the stuff of her dreams. Suffered from depression she hid as best she could, to little avail.

Dad had reached his 50s by the time he became the owner of a 200-acre, 40-cow dairy operation. He’d pinched pennies for decades, doing farm labor before and after shifts in a factory and on weekends, at one point going more than three decades without a day off. Finally, he could work land and milk cows full time on a farm titled in his name, with a bank lien, of course.

He splurged, paying to have a customized magnetic sign made, one he proudly slapped on the driver’s side door of his truck. Big black letters against a white background, “C.J. ‘Chuck’ McCa…