Marcel and Paula Masse have been awarded the coveted title “Dairy of Distinction” at their Craftsbury farm for the past seven years. They are currently milking 120 of their 200-head herd, two times a day beginning at 4:30 a.m. There is a vacuum pipeline that takes the fresh milk right to the tank. Automatic doors, with a quick tug on a cord, allow the animals in and back out, and an orange tiger cat that gets a fresh milk refill in a cup. Standard scenes for a dairy farm. Here is the twist. Marcel and his wife milk goats.

Marcel is also the chicken plucker, processing all sorts of fowl and providing Vermonters a much-needed service. For folks that want to order 20 fryers or a couple of turkeys for the freezer, the task of butchering, plucking and preserving the meat can be daunting, if not downright disturbing. It’s easy to order a bunch of cute chicks, but the reality of getting them to the table can be tough. Marcel recommends that you don’t give your chickens pet names. It is just easier that way.

Photo courtesy of Alexandra Garven.

Back in the 50s, many Canadian families immigrated to Vermont looking for a better life. The Masse clan came down with their 11 children and settled first in Elmore and then moved to East Craftsbury. Marcel was five years old and was the fourth from bottom of the line. Without any English, he attended school at six, “But it was like the sound of bees, ‘buzz buzz’ all around. I could not understand nothing. No English. The teachers, they don’t care so we left and hunt the porcupine for bounty.”

“We would get $0.40 for a pair of ear from the bounty hunter. We made good money, we cut out ears from the tails, the bellies, the sides. If you could shape them nice, you could make up to twelve dollar for one porcupine.” Ingenuity and tenacity at a tender age.

Sure enough, Marcel did learn English and maintains a good French Canadian accent. He now teaches French to the local elementary students. Back in the day, when he was in school “four of us Frenchmen” were picked on. Marcel laughs as he questions, “Do you know what my first word in English was… ‘Usonsasbitches!’ That is what is was. We were teased so bad. ‘Usonsasbitches!’ was my first English. But we were good with the slingshot, so we got the respect.”

Marcel’s parents would not allow their son to go beyond the 8th grade, and in spite of, or perhaps because of it, he later earned his diploma the same year his daughter Tina graduated from Craftsbury Academy. He also developed a joy for living that belays itself in his warm smile and chatty self. Marcel can not get out a full sentence without a smile, a twinkle in his eye or a quick laugh.

Perhaps it was the twinkle in his eye that got his bride to marry him in 1964.

“I knew him at school and I didn’t like him at first. He was a terrible tease,” she said. Marry him she did and they began traditional dairy farming as they raised four children. Marcel also hunted and logged to help provide for his family.

So when a storm took the barn roof off in March of 1994, the Masses evaluated their options. Paula had kept all of the milk check receipts for the past 20 years. When they saw that the price of cows’ milk was higher in the 70s then the 90s they sought out alternative options. They looked at the needs of the people around them and poultry processing was something Marcel knew he could do. The state’s permitting process was the most difficult part of the transition. Marcel doesn’t like heal draggers and didn’t want to pay a lawyer $5,000 to do the paperwork for him.

He was able to get through the process by fine tuning his business. Marcel will butcher fowl, all types, even an emu. He, his sons and grandsons will pluck, cut and wrap the meat. They will not sell you any poultry or dress any other type of meat. Paula states, “He skins like the Devil” and Marcel is exceptional at dressing game and it is rumored that he has even pulled a deer skin by some fancy cuts by the hoofs and the use of his truck. He calls it “Truck skinning.” Try getting him to step outside of what is permitted though and forget it. He won’t do it.

Poultry is, however, a seasonal business that begins to wind down in the late fall. The Masses needed another venue and animals are an important part of their lives. “I am the first to diversify,” quips Marcel. They had heard of the goat milk market and saw that there were not many goat farms around. “All of the goat dairy farms where either way up on the mountain or way down in some valley. None around here,” explained Paula. The Masses approached Vermont Butter and Cheese Company and found that indeed there was a need for fresh goats’ milk.

With seven mommas, of mixed breeds, they got their start. Now there are a variety of different breeds; Saanans, Toggenburg, Alpines, Nubians and the truly funny looking stubby eared goat, the La Manchia. In the 14 years that they have been milking goats, the price of milk has risen and they are now getting $44.00 a hundred weight.

Similar to selling raw cows’ milk, goat milk is paid on a premium based on a protein point. Goats are milked fresh and are dried off for a resting period. Unlike milking cows, the goats breed in season, which for the Masse farm is in November and December. The total pounds that are shipped weekly differ seasonally with the high season beginning around seven pounds per nanny, per day just after they drop their kids, down to four pounds of milk a day at the end of the season.

Even so, the Masses have figured out how to ride the tide of seasonal farming income. There is also a composting side line, comprised from the goat manure mixed with some poultry feathers and some barnyard bedding.

“Vermont is the land of opportunity, but you got to work hard at it and keep going,” says Marcel. No one would ever call him a heal dragger.

Alexandra Garven lives in Morristown.