Note from Barbara Zheutlin, executive director of Berkshire Grown: The Berkshires are much loved for the pastoral beauty of the region. This gorgeous landscape attracts visitors and development, producing a rich culture, while simultaneously raising the cost of land. The high cost of land is one of the many challenges facing farms, the farms that are at the heart of the beauty of the Berkshires. So a challenge to all who treasure the Berkshires is how to sustain the old and new farms of the region that make the Berkshires extraordinary. In this series you will “get to know your local farmers,” the individuals who grow the food you eat and care for the land you see.
Williamstown — Chenail’s Farm, a fifth-generation dairy farm, has a picturesque setting and a charming story to go with it. A little more than 100 years ago, the Chenails were living on a small farm in Clarksburg, raising some dairy and produce along with their eight kids while supporting the family with work in a local mill. One day, one of the boys—Ernest—was found running naked in the street and his mother told her husband, “We need a farm to put these kids to work.” So they bought a beautiful stretch of land in Williamstown filled with fruit orchards, grew their dairy herd and expanded their farming operations. The farm was so successful that the family purchased rental properties around town and the parents were able to lend all of their sons money to buy into businesses of their own. When they were grown, Ernest and his brother Eugene took over the farm and, in time, Ernest’s son Win was in charge and raising his family on the property. Today Win and his wife, Carol, still live on the farm and their two sons, Wally and Chris, run the farm along with Chris’ son Nick. Over the years the farm has been a social center and a place everyone in the extended family would come back to for picnics and entertainment or to lend a hand with the work on weekends. It was a central part of the community, too, delivering milk door-to-door and to the local Price Chopper, corner markets and nursing homes long before “locally-sourced” or “farm-to-table” were foodie buzzwords. Nestled in the hillside leading up to Mount Greylock, the farm’s 600 acres occupy a stunning spot—a million-dollar view, someone called it, when the Berkshire Grown staff and several board members visited on a recent sunny morning. But beyond the spectacular views and the multigenerational farm family lies a much more complex picture.
On the morning we visited, Wally Chenail had just received his milk check for the month of May. The farm received $16.16 per hundredweight (a hundredweight is the unit of measurement used for milk in the wholesale market; it is equivalent to just under 12 gallons). Production costs for Massachusetts and Northeast farmers clock in well above the price they’re being paid — on average, costs are somewhere around $23 per hundredweight, if not more. May marked the 42nd consecutive month that Northeast farms have earned less for their milk than it costs to produce it. That’s 42 straight months of operating at a loss. As Wally filled us in, he shook his head. “I’ve seen it this bad, but never this long,” he said.
In the past, milk prices have dropped this low, but they’ve typically rebounded after a few months or a year, providing farms the opportunity to get back into the black and to build up their resources again. “It can’t last much longer,” Wally told us. By which he meant: If it lasts much longer, there won’t be any dairy farms left. Already, the impact has been felt across Massachusetts and the Northeast. Dairy farms have been closing steadily in recent years, and the pace seems likely to accelerate this year. The New England dairy farmer may well be an endangered species.
Exacerbating the situation is an abysmal beef market, which traditionally served as an additional revenue stream for dairy farms who sell off most of their male calves and sometimes unneeded female animals, as well. Right now, a quality bull calf that would have sold for $600 two years ago is going for about $100. The Chenails recently earned $2 and change on one of their Jersey calves that, in past years, would have brought in $60-$70. This means that selling off extra calves is not the revenue stream it once was, and that liquidating their herds can’t necessarily help farmers get out of financial trouble, either.
At Chenail’s Farm, things don’t feel desperate. The farm has been carefully managed over the years, and the brothers stay apprised of the larger market and world affairs that are going to affect the economics of milk prices. Our conversation ranged from state-level politics to the Russian invasion of Crimea, which, believe it or not, affected the price the Chenails and other Massachusetts farmers were paid for their milk and is a contributing factor to the current four-year slump in milk prices. The farmers here have been careful to run their farm fastidiously as a business: to keep a close watch on their accounts, to pay themselves a steady salary and save for retirement, and to replenish their operating accounts in profitable years.
They also credit their sustainability with their choice to stay small. By resisting the pressure to grow and invest in a larger herd or bigger barns or new equipment, they haven’t overextended themselves financially or become beholden to bank debt. Like many of the successful farms we visit, they’ve also diversified smartly. The farm grows sweet corn, tomatoes, and additional produce and flowers for a popular farm stand alongside their property on Luce Road. Wally owns rental properties in town and Nick runs a firewood operation. But in recent months, the losses are getting worse and harder decisions have been made around how to cover the farm’s operating expenses. But the Chenails consider themselves in relatively good shape. “Some people are having to take loans to feed themselves,” they told us.
While we stood in the barnyard chatting, the milk truck pulled in for its daily pick up. The truck was helmed by the same driver the Chenails have seen every day for nearly 40 years, in all kinds of weather and through any circumstances. “If he doesn’t show up,” Wally told us, “I guarantee it’s because he’s dead.” These days the Chenails’ milk travels to Springfield daily in these tankers, where it’s processed alongside other milk from the region. While it’s not delivered door-to-door anymore, nearly all of the milk consumed in Massachusetts comes from farms within the Commonwealth or in New Hampshire, Vermont and eastern New York, making it our most widely available local food.
If there’s a bright spot for Massachusetts farmers, it’s the state’s dairy farmer tax credit. Every month, the price farmers receive for their milk is set by federal pricing policies according to a complex formula that is impacted by international supply and demand and a wide range of factors. In months when the milk price is below the cost of production for Massachusetts farms, the tax credit kicks in, helping to make up some of that gap. For many dairy farms in the Commonwealth, that credit has been lifeblood in recent years. When asked whether they would still be in business without the dairy farmer tax credit, Wally Chenail said: “No. I don’t think you can find a farm in the state that would be in business without it.” Currently, there is a movement in the state legislature to increase the budget for the dairy farmer tax credit in order to come closer to covering the operating losses for farmers as milk prices remain low for a record length of time.
Though we enjoyed sunny views across the rolling hills during our visit to the Chenails, the outlook is not bright for our dairy farmers. The futures market predicts that prices will go up in the fall but drop back down in January. By then, we may well have lost many more dairies. As dairy farms shutter, we’re not just losing individual farmers, we’re also losing one of our most important local foods and agricultural products. And the collapse of dairy poses a larger existential threat to agriculture in the area. Dairy farmers hold the vast majority of farmland and are responsible, in dollars, for most of the agricultural business in the state, supporting rural businesses like lumberyards, large animal vets and tractor supply stores that serve our small-scale livestock and produce farmers, as well. So if the last remaining dairies begin to fold, we’ll likely see ripple effects. The loss of dairy isn’t an isolated sad story but rather one that will pose a threat to the region’s farmland, scenic vistas, food supply and rural economy.
Sarah Gardner, a Berkshire Grown board member and producer of Forgotten Farms, a documentary about New England dairy farms, accompanied us on our visit. She chairs the Williamstown Agricultural Commission and has known the Chenails for a number of years. As we discussed the increasingly untenable economics facing dairy farmers, she asked the hard question you can’t help but wonder about: “Why do you do it? Why do you keep farming?” Wally thought and threw out the beginning of a response and then got quiet. He never did answer her. These days, it’s a question a lot of dairy farmers are holding.
Interested in supporting local dairy farms? This article by Sarah Gardner includes actions you can take to help sustain Berkshire dairies.
Want to visit Chenail’s Farm? The farm stand is located at 481 Luce Road in Williamstown and will be opening for the season sometime in July.
