The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree……. 

As a kid, I never appreciated my dad like I do now. He was always working. I’d see other kids out playing ball, fishing, or riding bikes with their dads, but my dad never seemed to have much time for me. He was always out in the fields planting or harvesting crops, fixing fences, milking cows, or doing paperwork. He would leave the house early in the morning and come in late at night, only stopping for a quick meal. Fast forward a few years. Now I have kids of my own, and I finally understand how much my dad gave me.

I always wanted to give my wife and kids a more balanced life than my dad gave me. I didn’t want farm life to be all work and no play. 

A few years ago, I was busy helping my wife and my two kids prepare for a rare family vacation. It was only going to be three days long, but to a dairy farmer, it was a big deal. My kids and I were joking with each other about who was going to catch the biggest fish, and we even made a special trip to town to pick out some fishing lures that we thought would land ‘the big one.’ My wife, a veterinarian, carefully coordinated her schedule weeks in advance, but as a dairy farmer, I can never be sure what tomorrow will look like, let alone next month. I am always on call every single day of the year. Will cows be calving? Will my crops be ready to harvest? Will I be able to find help to cover my workload? Things don’t always go according to plan, especially when you are a farmer. I am probably one of the few people who hope for rain on a holiday so that I don’t need to feel guilty about possibly missing a harvest window!

I had spent the last few days preparing for the trip. Thankfully, a cow that was due during our time away calved early—a small blessing. I even had a window of opportunity to take off some hay the day before our holiday so that my thoughts would be on spending time with my family and not on the crops quickly maturing in my fields. I ensured that my bookwork was up to date and my equipment was in good working order. Things were working out perfectly, so maybe – just maybe – I could finally be the dad and husband that I wanted to be. Extra feed was prepared, pens were cleaned, and the cattle were well bedded to take some of the workload off my relief helper. There were no storms in the forecast, so I didn’t need to worry about the implications of a power failure. A sick cow was on the mend, so that brought me some peace of mind knowing that she shouldn’t be an issue. I left pages of notes with instructions on what to do and whom to call if things went wrong. We managed to find someone to house-sit and look after our four cats, two dogs, and a coop full of chickens. I updated the list of cow names and numbers and left strict instructions on how my calves should be fed. I know every cow like the freckles on the back of my hand, but to my relief helper, the cows are strangers. On my farm, each cow has her own milking stall. They are pretty good at coming into their stalls at milking time from the pasture field, but it helps to know their personalities and little nuances. All I could do was hope that they behaved and that my helper wouldn’t get frustrated finding their correct stalls. No matter how well you prepare, it is still stressful to leave. Some people can hardly handle leaving a pet at home with a sitter or in a kennel, let alone an entire herd of cows, which is your livelihood.

The day before we were about to leave, I got a text from my relief milker. He wasn’t able to come due to an emergency of his own. My heart sank. How would I tell my kids and my wife? They were so looking forward to taking me off the farm because it is such a rare event to get away as a family. Finally, with a lump in my throat, I got up the courage to tell them, and my efforts earned me a sad face from my daughter and a cold shoulder from my son. The bleak reality that Daddy had to stay home to look after the farm had sunk in. There was no other choice, and I hid my tears until I saw my wife drive the kids down the lane with our canoe in tow. I felt very alone and like one of the worst dads in the world. That moment crushed me more than any broken piece of equipment or a drought ever could. I wanted to quit farming.

No one talks much about the emotional side of fatherhood, especially in farming. We’re raised to be providers, protectors, and problem-solvers. But the truth is, being a farm dad isn’t just about feeding your family. It’s about being with them. Showing up. Listening. Playing. Laughing. And sometimes, we can’t do that—not because we don’t want to, but because we’re carrying the weight of keeping everything running and feeding the world.

Farming is more than a job—it’s a commitment. Twice a day, every day, my cows need to be milked. Sick animals don’t wait for opportune times. The weather doesn’t pause for family milestones. It’s that commitment to farming that often steals time from the people I love most – my family. I know my kids understand. I’ve missed games, recitals, and school meetings—but they know why. They’ve grown up with this life. They’ve helped bottle-feed calves, pick stones, and throw hay bales. They’ve learned about responsibility and resilience in ways few kids do these days.

But I still see the way they hesitate before asking if I can come along next time. I see the disappointment that they try to hide when my answer is no. And I carry that burden with me always. 

The problem comes in balancing family and farming. Larger farms may be able to justify having a full-time employee who can manage things when the farmer needs to be somewhere. For a small family dairy farm like mine, it is almost impossible to be able to pay for full-time help. Part-time help is great, but it is increasingly difficult to find. If you are lucky enough to find help, they are often lacking in the work ethic and skill to stick with the job. My kids are old enough to take care of things if I need to miss a milking, but it’s not a family vacation if one of the family members needs to stay at home. 

I am not looking for sympathy. When I became a dairy farmer, I knew what I was getting into, and so did my wife when she married me. It’s a choice that I have made, and everyone makes sacrifices for things that they are passionate about. Thankfully, my wife is incredibly understanding, and my kids are forgiving. They understand when I need to miss a soccer game because it falls at milking time. They know that a calving cow or a sick calf is a good excuse to miss a school event and that an upcoming rainstorm means a late night of bringing in hay. They also know that the farm has given them a life unequalled by any other. It has brought us close as a family because we work alongside each other each day, and it has taught us valuable lessons on nurturing life that no vacation could ever teach us. I tell myself that it’s in the little things: the way I listen when they tell me about their day, even if it’s while I’m milking cows. It’s carving out a few moments to cast a line in our pond together, and most of all, it’s about telling them that I’m trying—not just for the farm, but for us. And that I’m learning, slowly, how to make space for both. I will try again in the fall or winter to get away with my family because even farmers need a holiday, and I will actively seek some part-time help to gain some flexibility and work-life balance. I need to remember that the definition of a family farm is a farm run by a family. Hopefully, a well-deserved vacation will someday take my family from the farm, but I know that it will never take the farm from my family.

Thanks, Dad, for always being there for me. Thanks for instilling in me your work ethic, your honesty, your passion for farming, and your compassion for animals. Happiest of Father’s Day to all the dads, stepdads, and other caretakers out there. 

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Tim May is a 4th-generation dairy farmer, seasoned speaker, and influential social media advocate from Rockwood, Ontario. He holds a degree in Animal Science from the University of Guelph and operates his family farm with his two wonderful children and his wife, a talented veterinarian. His registered Holstein herd (and two Jerseys) are featured through various social channels, where Tim inspires his followers to learn and share more about agriculture.

Tim is extremely passionate about agriculture and consumer education. Over the past 40+ years, his family has given farm tours to schools, general interest groups and individuals. It is from the school children that he got his nickname, “Farmer Tim.” Tim uses his platform to educate consumers on life through the lens of a farmer, including the rewards, motivation and mental health struggles that come with it. Tim’s sense of humour, wisdom and transparency has been key to building public trust with his followers and for the agriculture industry. Tim’s efforts to promote agriculture and break the stigma of mental health have earned him the Farm and Food Care Champion award, Jersey Canada’s Certificate of Recognition and recently, the King Charles III Coronation Medal at the Senate in Ottawa. Tim enjoys speaking globally, but he feels most at home on the farm.

Instagram: @farmer_tim
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MayhavenFarms