Growing Up on a Dairy Farm: A Childhood shaped by Faith and Family

By: Kevin Funk

Growing up on a dairy farm wasn’t just a lifestyle—it forged my values, work ethic, and worldview. Raised by parents who loved Jesus and loved their kids, I learned early on that life’s greatest lessons come from hard work, the love of family, and an unwavering faith in something greater.

Life on our farm was unrelenting at times. Cows don’t take holidays, and the work doesn’t pause for snowstorms or birthdays. From the time I could walk, I had chores like feeding calves, cleaning stalls, or helping stack hay bales in the sweltering summer heat. My parents didn’t just assign these tasks to keep me busy (although at the time it seemed like it). They were teaching me responsibility, the dignity of hard work, and the importance of contributing to something bigger than myself. “The farm doesn’t run itself,” my dad would say (his calloused hands and a partially missing fingertip were a testament to decades of labor). Dad knew we were stewards of everything God had provided us, and he taught me to never take advantage of this fact.

Faith was the heartbeat of our home. Every morning, before the sun peeked over the horizon, Dad would gather us around the kitchen table for a reading of Our Daily Bread. Those moments, with the smell of breakfast and the faint sound of the barn in the distance, grounded us. Church on Sundays wasn’t optional—it was as essential as milking the cows. My parents’ faith wasn’t just a set of beliefs, but a lens for viewing life and handling the challenges of our farm. They’d remind us, “God’s got a plan, even when we can’t see it.” That trust in divine providence gave me a resilience I carry to this day.

On a dairy farm, you don’t just live with your family—you work alongside them, depend on them, and sometimes butt heads. Being the youngest of three, I would sometimes get the pass on doing chores, and they didn’t like it. My siblings and I learned to communicate, compromise, and forgive quickly because the farm demanded teamwork. Supper was a special time, a time to share stories, laugh, and pray together. After long days of exhausting work, those evenings reminded us of what mattered most.

The farm also taught me about life’s cycles—birth, growth, and loss. I bottle-fed newborn calves, watched them grow into sturdy heifers, and mourned when we lost one to illness. Those experiences mirrored the spiritual lessons my parents instilled: life is precious, fragile, and part of a larger story. Faith wasn’t an abstract concept on the farm; it was tangible in the miracle of a calf’s first breath or seeing little kittens running around.

Today, I carry the dairy farm with me, not just in memory but in the way I live. The value of hard work, the importance of family, and the comfort of God’s plans are roots that run deep. My parents didn’t just raise me; they gave me a foundation to build a life on. And though I may not wake to the sound of cows anymore, the lessons of that life guide me every day.