PINE PLAINS — Most mornings, you can find farmer Sarah Chase in the same place you could find her at the ages of 14, 10 and 6 — in the dairy barn her grandfather built.
Chaseholm Farm has weathered the immense challenges pitted against modern dairies to become the sibling partnership, local food presence and ecosystem steward that it is today. Chase and her crew maintain the organic, grass-fed dairy while her brother, Rory, turns the milk into Chaseholm Creamery’s line of award-winning artisan cheeses.
When Ken Chase bought three farms in the 1930s and combined them to start his business, there were over 40 dairy farms in Pine Plains. Today, Chaseholm is one of four.
Consolidation in the industry, price fluctuation and real estate development pressure have made business untenable for most family dairies in the region over the decades.
“Not everyone appreciates that the rolling, grassy hills people are drawn to in this region have been maintained by livestock farmers,” Chase shared last week, standing between two orderly rows of cows during morning milking. “As farms are sold off to development, a lot of brush is moving in.”
Chaseholm’s longevity is thanks to a combination of farmer ingenuity, vision, community support and luck.
When Chase returned to the farm after college, it was out of a longing to reconnect with the land and animals she had grown up with while her father, Barry Chase, was managing Chaseholm.
It was also with a new understanding that there was a potential market within local food economies.
“I had friends who were experimenting with small vegetable farms that sold directly to customers through CSAs [community supported agriculture] and markets,” said Chase. “I wondered if something similar might be possible with dairy.”
Ever since Chase took over the farm in 2013, connecting directly with customers has been central to the business.
Chaseholm now operates a small, on-site store mere feet from the barn where the cows march into their stanchions every morning. The store stocks raw milk as well as the farm’s yogurt, beef and pork, and other locally sourced groceries. The cheese Rory makes down the road out of Sarah’s milk is featured as well.
The farm also delivers to CSA pickup sites around the region and the cheeses are available at many local stores and farmers markets.
Most dairy farmers sell their milk to regional cooperatives that pick it up and bring it swiftly to be processed. While the co-ops play an important role in getting fresh milk to market on a large scale, farmers are at the whim of set prices.
“We used to sell that way, but prices are so low and volatile, we couldn’t make it work. There is just constant pressure that reduces the value of milk,” Chase explained while each of the cows waited patiently for a turn to be milked. “There is a saying that when prices are high, you buy more cows to reap the benefits, and when prices are low, you buy more cows to increase production enough to make any money.”
Sarah Chase, owner of Chaseholm Farm in Pine Plains, in the barn her grandfather built.Janna Siller
Getting bigger and bigger felt like a losing battle to Chase, especially with the grass-based practices she had in mind:
“I’m just like my dad — the reason I’m here is because I love the cows. The more I learned about the potential of grass-based grazing systems to regenerate land, it was like discovering that my favorite animal was a superhero.”
To explain why, Chase took a journey to the deep, carbon-sequestering soils of grasslands the world over where herbivores graze concentrated areas in short bursts before moving along to stay safe from predators. The animals stimulate root growth and microbial life by pruning the grasses and by dropping fertilizer in the form of manure.
“We intend to replicate the impact of the great migratory herds, but in miniature, on Chaseholm’s pastures,” Chase said. “We use electric fencing and some brain power to coordinate which plot of land the cows will graze that day and when and where hay will be cut to carry the herd through the winter.”
Rory sees the benefits of grazing on the flavor profile of his cheeses and Sarah sees it on the resilience of the land. “Moisture is being held better in soil. In drought years, we are able to continue grazing.”
Breeding is also a key component of the system. Dutchess County has long been known for its productive, high-quality Holsteins. Chase is adding compatibility with grazing systems to the mix of traits she breeds for in her Holstein-Jersey mixes.
The Chase family, with the support of local land trusts, state funds and local fundraising, has sold the development rights to almost 300 acres of their land, 100 of which are forested, and put it all into permanent conservancy. Chase leases an additional 500 acres of land for producing hay and baleage (think: pickled hay that is extra nutritious to cows).
While Chase is passionate about inviting customers to experience the nutrition, flavor and connection to land that the farm has to offer, she also wants to create access to the unique kind of good time that is only possible on farms. Chaseholm hosts events from June through November with bands playing in the pasture, burgers for sale on the lawn, and drag shows in the barn.
As for the future, Chase hopes to keep anomalously being able to employ farmers in the dairy industry — Chaseholm currently supports a combined two full-time, year-round positions. She also hopes to invest in the farm’s infrastructure with a new barn:
“I want to modernize our facilities so that we can spend more time doing the fun/creative/enterprising stuff and less time just doing chores. It will be a big morale booster around here to move away from our very manual 1930s-style winter feeding methods, and I think our cows will like the new system, too.”
Sarah Chase, owner of Chaseholm Farm in Pine Plains, in front of the farm store and the barn her grandfather built.Janna Siller
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Each piece makes a gift, a note or even a Christmas tree seem more personal, more considered, and more connected to humanity. Since then, demand for her personalized, hand-lettered tags, ornaments and cards has only grown, appearing in mailboxes across the region and at shops like the Cornwall Whale and Marton & Davis in Chatham, New York. Her precision is remarkable, and to watch her create these one-of-a-kind pieces is an art all unto itself.
In recent months, we’ve seen a deluge of stories on digital replacement. Data managers, bankers and even therapists are being replaced by computer programs in mass waves of layoffs. But what many still find surprising about the proliferation of nonhuman competitors in the job market is how it’s affecting the arts. Illustrators, animators, photographers, musicians and even on-screen actors are being supplanted by bots touted as “artificial intelligence agents.”
But calligraphy — and handwriting in general — has been in the crosshairs of mechanical progress for centuries. There was a time, if you can believe it, when writing anything required ink, paper and sometimes even a living, breathing human scribe. No typewriters, no word processors, no voice-to-text programs.
Then came Gutenberg’s printing press. Sure, it changed the world for the better, ensuring a greater distribution of ideas, and helping spark some of the most important political movements in history. But it also marked one of the first moments when technology replaced the artistic work of the human hand. Over the centuries, printers, designers and technologists have continued to innovate. Today, with Photoshop or Illustrator, an entire universe of alphabets exists, from ornate and embellished to precise and futuristic — all designed to replace the human hand.
Melissa Gamwell, crafting custom Valentine’s Day cards in her office in Cornwall. Kevin Greenberg
Yet, despite this centuries-long assault from technology, Gamwell has found her own way to thrive. Largely self-taught, she combines her drawing and industrial design background with an old-school New England childhood in Maine that involved “very tangible, hands-on, creative problem-solving using many materials.” Raised by “parents who loved antiquarian books, often filled with hand-written dedications,” hers was the kind of upbringing in which “traditional practices were cherished and flaunted” — a time and place with “hand-painted lettering on churches, street signage, the stones in beautiful churchyard cemeteries, and log books.”
Those early impressions have stayed with her, heightening her appreciation of sometimes overlooked details.
“There’s so much ephemera floating around with traces of beautiful handwriting to see everywhere, even now in Connecticut,” she said.
Even in a digital age, she keeps technology at a distance.
“You will not find ChatGPT on my phone, and you will usually not find my phone on me,” she said. Instead, she opts for a notebook, a scrap of paper or the back of a receipt. Sometimes, she goes even further, gathering black walnuts from trees on her property to make the specialized ink for her practice.
Gamwell’s approach to her craft is also philosophical. “There is no better feeling than working through something with your own brain and your own hands, even if you find it less exemplary than you would hope. And it only uses the water you’re already consuming. Do you need to convey an idea? Draw it, however horrific or childish. Write it, even if you never learned proper grammar — because you’ve always had programs do it,” she said.
“Sometimes I think that everything I like is ‘historic’ but it’s really that I just find more value in the traditional methods, which are still alive and well, and desperately in need of stewards for the future.”
After nearly 400 years of pressure, it’s encouraging to see handwriting — an art form that once seemed destined for obsolescence — still thriving, one careful stroke at a time. And thanks to Gamwell, perhaps there’s a new generation of observers, collectors and future calligraphers ready to carry it forward.
D.H. Callahan is a voice actor, creative director and trail steward. He lives with his wife, artist Lane Arthur, in West Cornwall, Connecticut.
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