It was a rare occurrence in early October to find a day when the sun shone enough to enhance the lush colors of fall. My husband and I drove south through Cattaraugus County and were happy to see the sun beaming through the clouds, even if it was of short duration.

So many thoughts went through my mind as we traveled on our day excursion. I thought of the road trip I had taken in the spring with other writers in Rick Ohlers’ class touring Wyoming County. At the follow-up class, one of the writers said he wondered about so much as we drove through the hills and valleys of Sheldon and Varysburg. He said he could go about wondering all day — and that was just what I found myself doing.

I saw an abandoned silo in an open field, and wondered why it was not demolished before some

inquisitive child was hurt trying to climb into it. In the rural areas I saw the smoke from chimneys, and thought of the work and danger in cutting the trees. In this area the fireplace was not burned for ambience but out of necessity due to rising fuel costs. I could feel a sense of pioneer spirit and warmth in these homes, lost in so many affluent areas.

I enjoyed seeing the animals grazing in the open fields and noticed a lone black and white Holstein in a field with another breed of cows and wondered just why he was in that herd. Then I thought of the Holsteins in my hometown, the Sheldon area, and wondered if they indeed would become an extinct species in the future with the low price the farmers are getting for milk.

I thought of the lady on the bus trip who was not accustomed to country living and repeatedly asked in dismay, “But where are the cows?” It is rare to see a cow out to pasture these days, but she had a vision of them out to browse.

I was neither brought up on a farm nor raised my children on one. However, my father, the late Harold Schiltz, was a business dealer and dealt with farmers, as did my brothers John and Pete. My sister, Jane and her husband, Bob, are farmers, as are many of our good friends and relatives.

Living in a farming community, I have seen many small farms sold out in recent years. Now even the larger remaining ones are having trouble surviving.

I like learning about my heritage, and I wonder how my ancestors would feel today. They settled here with a vision of a piece of land big enough to support a family, raise a few animals and live off the land. Many generations stayed on these farms, only now to see the long-established family tradition fall apart.

Government officials are so taken up with reforming health care that I wonder if their priorities are in order. Milk is one of the best foods to keep the nation healthy; and yes, we can afford to buy it now, but what of the future when the farmers succumb, one by one?

So I keep on wondering, as my friend on the bus trip did. After picking up a carton of milk on a recent shopping trip and seeing it was imported, I have reason to be concerned about the future as our farmers struggle, going down one by one.

We may be in store for an advanced health plan, but perhaps without good, fresh local milk. The quote of the day seems to be “it is what it is.” But I have to wonder if it has to be.