Know where I can score some raw milk?

Sunshine Farms was our past source for raw milk, but they had to close down because they couldn’t realistically comply with new, stricter state regulations.

But word on the street was, there was a new player in town, and by “in town”, I mean here in Santa Fe, not an hour-and-a-half away in Bosque Farms.

So we get in touch with the new dealer (a.k.a., the Milk Man), who tells us he doesn’t live in Santa Fe, but drives into town once a week to deliver the goods. Sweeet! All we have to do is purchase a cow share — because if you own the cow, you’re allowed to drink the milk. As it turns out, we’re headed his direction for Christmas. We just need to stop by and sign a bit of paperwork. Only we don’t know his exact address and now we can’t get hold of him.

Thankfully, after several tries, we get in touch and he gives us directions to the farm. So I drive out and meet his wife and the cows and pay for my cow share and even purchase a couple of gallons of raw milk, but I don’t sign a contract. That’ll be emailed to me.

A few days go by. We receive the contract. I’m supposed to print it out and mail it back to them, only I don’t know their address (I have directions to the farm, but no address). So I email them. A few days go by. They email back, and I send it off.

A week goes by. We’re running low on the good stuff and we don’t want to go back to ultra-pasteurized skank milk and we haven’t heard anything from our dealer. We call. We email. A few days go by. We receive an email from a Susan M. (name changed to protect the innocent) about a Sunday, 1pm delivery. We’re excited, but there’s no mention of a drop-off/pick-up location. So we email. We call. No response. We start looking through the phone book for a Susan M. — and find one. I think it’s a long-shot, but my wife’s willing to call, so she makes the call, and lo and behold, Susan M. is a raw milk devotee. She set up the mailing list for the Milk Man (so Susan M. is both a real person and an email alias for the Milk Man), and she knows the drop-off/pick-up location.

So we’re set. Only the drop-off time is changed at the last minute from Sunday, 1pm to Monday, 5:30pm. So last night, at twilight, I follow the instructions given to me by the real Susan M. I find the house. There’s a plain-white van parked in the gravel drive and 7 or 8 people forming a line. I get in line. The Milk Man announces there’s no cream or butter (it’s been too cold, the cows aren’t producing much), but he’s got milk. And now I have it (exactly one month from first contact), and I’m drinking it, and loving it.

Thank you Milk Man.

You can follow responses to this individual entry via the entry-specific RSS 2.0 feed.
Feel free to leave a response, or trackback from your own site.