Most of the trees had already shed their colorful leaves, but the fields along the road were still bright green. Blinding sunshine and the warm temperature of that afternoon gave the impression that our lovely fall weather would last forever. As we drove past a well-cared-for farmyard, we were hit with the distinct, strong smell of cow manure. Out of habit, I cheerfully announced, “I smell money!”

My daughter Tammie, who was driving the car, laughed.

I chuckled, remembering how often I said that phrase when I took my daughters to visit their Grammie. She lived on the farm I’d grown up on. The first time I said it my grade school-aged girls asked, “Why are you saying that? The smell is disgusting!”

Glancing into the backseat where they sat, I explained cheerfully, “The reason I said that is because, if you don’t smell cow poop in a dairy farmer’s yard, he doesn’t have an income. There’s no way to milk cows or raise beef cattle without having manure to deal with. Where there is no poop, there won’t be a paycheck either.”

Having spent many hours in the barn with my family while I was growing up, the smell of manure was familiar to me and not offensive. The only time the smell was not ok was when dirty barn boots tracked filth into a house, school, or church. My mother always made sure that our farmhouse never smelled like barn. We changed clothing and washed when coming into the house or going somewhere.