Robert Switzer, Professor Emeritus of Biochemistry at the UI, has recently published a book that isn’t about science. The book, A Family Farm: Life on an Illinois Dairy Farm, is a nonfiction account of life across the generations on the farm in northern Illinois Switzer grew up on. Switzer grandparents took over the farm in 1916 and passed it on to Switzer’s parents. Switzer himself left farming in the 1950s for a college education that lead to his career in science, but the farm remained in the family until Switzer and his brother sold it in 1992 after their father died.
Switzer will be giving a talk about his book and signing copies of it this Thursday, June 7, between 7:00 and 8:30 p.m. at the Urbana Free Library.
One example of a larger trend
While A Family Farm: Life on an Illinois Dairy Farm is a personal account of one particular farm and family, it is presented as one example of a national trend — the massive reduction in family farms over roughly the last hundred years. One strength of the book is the graceful way the author links statistics and big picture statements on American agriculture to his own family and their 121-acre farm. An example:
When the farm debt crisis in the 1980s developed, some neighboring farm families were overwhelmed by unsecured debt. One neighbor who lost his farm committed suicide. More fiscally secure farmers gobbled up the failed farms and increased their holdings. The economist Neil Harl summarizes Dad’s situation neatly: “Those who were the least impacted were not necessarily the most efficient and, in fact, tended to be the older, cautious, farmers with smaller operations and little or no debt.”
Essentially, the book allows the reader to attach stories and personalities to national issues.
An unsentimental look at farm life
Switzer writes about the relentless work that the family did to keep their farm operating over the decades — as he points out, cows don’t take days off — but doesn’t romanticize it. Indeed, he sometimes describes the labor in terms of its awfulness, for instance:
However, Dad always saved one especially unpleasant task for my return from college in late May — castrating pigs. The hogs had to be rounded up, caught by the legs, and held immobile on their sides for the surgery, which was without anesthesia. The pigs were frightened and in pain. They should have been castrated much sooner, as they were now big and strong. I had never learned to use a knife, so I was the one who caught and held them down. By the end of the day of wrestling with squealing pigs, my hands were rubbed raw by rough pigskin and my arms and back ached.
Switzer writes of happier aspects of farm life as well — for instance, the festive community gatherings to thresh grain during his grandparents’ day — but it’s clear why he wanted to leave the farm for college. Also, he never expresses any regret for having chosen a career in science.
The reader gets a sense of how the endless farmed labor formed the people doing it. Switzer describes how after his father retired from farming his land himself, he still maintained his routines — only now instead of going to the barn and working with his cows he was putting out milk and rolled oats twice a day for the semi-feral barn cats:
“I have to feed my livestock,” he’d say jokingly. The routines of daily chores were so deeply ingrained in his life that he needed this little chore for his sense of well-being.
Family
Switzer mentions that his parents and grandparents — who lived in more tight-lipped times — “would not have been pleased by the frank intimacy with which I told their story,” but goes on to say, “I intend no disrespect in doing so, and I hope that my deep affection and understanding will be evident.”
There’s a sadness that runs through many of the family anecdotes, for instance, in the following account of Switzer’s aging parents:
During the winter of 1972, Mother began pulling on heavy outdoor clothing and going out to the barn to stay with Dad during the dark cold evenings when he milked the cows. She was not strong enough to be of much help to him, but she felt ashamed to sit in the warm kitchen while he labored alone in the cold barn. She came to the barn mostly to keep him company. It was a kind gesture, but one she came to regret. The chores took a long time, and the barn was cold and drafty and stank of manure. One could only pet the cats and calves for so long; it was boring. Dad sometimes asked Mother to carry pails of milk that were too heavy for her. She felt useless and wished to be back in the warm house. However, she was now obligated to keep going to the barn every evening; she felt Dad would resent her no longer doing it. She was trapped by her own good intentions.
Yet while the author provides an unvarnished look at his elders, he does it in a way that also shows his admiration and appreciation. The book lives up to its dedication:
This book is dedicated to the memory of my maternal grandparents, Charles and Mabel Allison, and my parents Stephen and Elva Allison Switzer. The story of our farm is primarily their story, and it is their lives that are so unsparingly examined in this book. My life, so full of blessings, was built on a foundation of their labor and love. They deserve honor and respect.
Family farms in the Twentieth Century tended to be large — they had to be so that there was enough human labor to keep the farm going. Indeed, Switzer and his brother grew up working in the fields for the foremost reason that their father needed their labor, which they weren’t always overjoyed to provide, especially in their teenage years. It’s interesting to consider that Switzer’s book, published so many years after he left farming behind, is also a family effort, although presumably a more voluntary one — Switzer’s wife contributed watercolor illustrations, his brother and sister-in-law provided “recollections and corrections” and his son is the book’s graphic designer.
In conclusion
When I first heard about this book and learned that it was by an older man writing about the family farm he grew up on, I erroneously assumed that it would be a nostalgic and romantic “good old days” type of recollection. The truth is that it’s something a lot more complex and valuable — a clear and candid look back by an author who is emotionally involved with his subject, but also able to write about it objectively when needed. It’s a book as universal as agriculture and as local as the state of Illinois — a “homegrown” look, if you will, at one family and their farm.