Farms set their cheese course

BOW, Skagit County —

Like many dairy farmers faced with the increasing difficulty of making a small dairy profitable, Vic and Judy Jensen were facing a hard choice — sell out and end the rural lifestyle their family had enjoyed for generations, or think beyond the milk carton.

Their son, Doug Jensen, and his wife, Brandy, hit on an idea that has been gaining popularity among dairy farmers throughout the state.

Now, little more than a year later, mozzarella-in-the-making swims in a stainless-steel tank and creamy moons of gouda and cheddar line shelves in the cold-storage shed at the Jensen farm. Brandy Jensen, 28, sporting clogs, brown hair tucked beneath the elastic of a black-and-white Holstein-print cap, loads a box of cheese wedges to be sent to the Bellevue Farmers Market.

The Jensens' dairy is one of 17 in Washington to turn to farmstead cheesemaking to boost profits. A little more than five years ago, there were only seven. Many experts liken the cheesemaking trend in this state to the beginnings of Washington's now-flourishing wine industry, which began small and now is estimated to be a $3 billion-a-year industry.

The circumstances that motivated farmers to switch to vineyards are similar to those dairy farmers face: high costs of running a farm, including labor, buying feed and the fluctuating price for products farmers sell.

Today there are more than 350 wineries in the state — a 300 percent increase since 1981.

If the interest in cheesemaking continues, there will be plenty of cheesemakers to keep pace with the varieties of wine.

Just this year, Washington State University responded to the increase in interest by splitting a cheesemaking program it had had for years into a separate class just for those making farmstead cheese. Farmstead cheese is the name given to cheese made on farms, as opposed to artisan cheese, a specialty cheese made in small batches but not on a farm.

There are now specialty cheesemakers in all 50 states answering consumers' growing demand for variety, including cheeses made with goat and sheep milk.

Jan Thompson, deli merchandiser for PCC Natural Markets, said "there's definitely a lot of interest in cheese made in Washington, or at least made in the Northwest."

As a rule, farmstead cheese is made without additives or color of any sort. Although for Golden Glen, their cheese brand, the Jensens pasteurize the milk used in the cheesemaking — an extra step that isn't required — many farmstead cheesemakers don't.

To be licensed to sell cheese, Golden Glen is inspected by the county health department.

Meeting safety standards is the key factor to success. Marc Bates, the retired head of the Washington State University creamery and coordinator of the WSU farmstead cheesemaking program, tells students not to get so carried away with enthusiasm over the potential of the cheesemaking industry that they forget food safety.

It is a market full of potential, the experts say.

Americans are eating more cheese than ever. In 2003, Americans consumed 30.5 pounds of cheese per person compared with 17.5 pounds in 1980. Statistics show the increase is due to consumers' awareness that not all cholesterol is bad, that cheese has health benefits and that consumers are now more adventurous in their tastes, according to information Bates gives his clients.

"Cherish this lifestyle"

The Jensens joined the market after a drought in 2003 raised the cost of feed at the same time that the price of milk was down. The family had weathered other tough years, but that was the year they seriously thought about selling.

"We cherish this lifestyle, so anything we could do to keep it going ... ," said Judy Jensen, 61, whose eyes brimmed with tears at the thought of leaving the valley in which she grew up, met her husband, married and raised her children.

Even though she had been ill with breast cancer four years earlier, she was not going to let long hours and hard work keep her from helping preserve the farm.

It took a $150,000 investment in equipment, a two-week cheesemaking course at California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, and the Jensen women launched the creamery.

Judy and her daughter-in-law, Brandy, who had her second child several weeks ago, run it, working 12-hour days, six days a week. In the meantime, Vic and sons Doug and Dennis take care of the dairy.

Even though it's been a little more than a year since Golden Glen cheese has gone to market, "our numbers look good," Brandy said. And the revenue from cheesemaking, as well as the sale of milk, makes it likely the family will continue their rural lifestyle for another generation.

But cheesemaking isn't easy money, cautions Ken Bailey, associate professor of agricultural sciences at Pennsylvania State University.

"You have to be very entrepreneurial and have a flair for what the consumer wants," he said.

Most cheesemaking classes provide information not only on making cheese but marketing it as well. While that's a concept that may be foreign to farmers, survival requires catching on quickly. Cheesemakers learn to differentiate their product from others through packaging, image and targeting the right customers.

Golden Glen has pinned its hopes on attracting more adventurous, everyday gourmets and people wanting wholesome food without additives.

Bates, also a consultant to the industry, tells his students to use demographics such as age, income, gender or lifestyle in identifying potential customers.

While the marketing aspect of cheesemaking is new, the concept of local dairies making cheese isn't.

"We've come full circle. In the '30s and '40s, every county in the state had creameries and some of those made local cheese," Bates said.

Bates grew up in Oso, Snohomish County, in the 1950s and recalls the farmstead cheese at the Oso General Store.

"You'd ... bring the cleaver down and cut a piece of rat-trap cheddar. The name was derogatory but it was good cheese," he said.

Over time, local farmstead cheeses disappeared as small dairies consolidated and the remaining ones sold their milk to industry giants that typically prohibit using any portion of the milk for other purposes.

That was one obstacle the Jensens had to settle before they could launch their cheesemaking operation. Under contract, they sell all their milk from their Holsteins to Darigold. To get the 225 gallons of milk needed each week to make 550 pounds of cheese, they had to buy some of their own milk back from Darigold — plus the cost of shipping, even though the milk never left the dairy.

George Train of Pleasant Valley Dairy in Ferndale, Whatcom County, went into the cheesemaking business in 1974, when it was so unheard of someone complained to the local health department that a "radical cheesemaker" was on the loose.

Train laughs at the memory. He said the reasons for starting to make cheese then were the same that prompt many people to get into it now: the volatility in the dairy industry and a need to make more money.

"I had been shipping the milk to Darigold and needed to increase the bottom line," he said.

Eventually, Pleasant Valley Dairy stopped bottling milk and went into cheese production full time. "It was a financial necessity. When we make our own product, we have control over our own price. ... We get more return for the money with cheese."

More recently, Rootabaga Country and Appel farms — in Bow and Ferndale, respectively — have joined the cheesemaking industry, turning out varieties of goudas and fetas.

"The happy dance"

At Golden Glen, the newest in the farmstead-cheese business, green-gold cornstalks rustle like taffeta in a field near the office. It was midmorning and Judy and Brandy walked to the office for a break.

An effusive woman with a quick laugh and a cellphone that plays the "E-I-E-I-O" refrain from "Old MacDonald," Judy talked about seeing return customers do "the happy dance" when they see the Golden Glen women at the Bellevue Farmers Market.

"They're so excited to see us," she said. "They almost take ownership of the cheese."

"It's nice when they introduce us to others as, 'Our ladies,' " Brandy added.

Customer loyalty is translating into sales. Although milk is still the major income for the farm, the family predicts the cheesemaking operation has the potential to triple its profits. They currently sell several hundred pounds a week.

Brandy handles the office and marketing two days a week. On the four days a week when cheese is made, she and Judy work together in production. When cheddar is in the works, it's Brandy who sets the alarm for the middle of the night to take the cheese out of the press at the 12-hour intervals and soak it in brine.

Judy's day begins at 6 a.m. with scouring tanks and sterilizing equipment.

On mozzarella day, both women were elbow-deep in curds and whey. They returned every few minutes to check the pH as the temperature dropped, waiting for the mixture to become more acidic.

When the pH is 5.1, the whey is drained off, leaving curds. That's when the volunteers show up, women in aprons, clogs and caps who take the warm, soft cheese, stretching it until it begins to resemble mozzarella.

That these friends volunteer regularly with only some cheese as the occasional compensation amazes Brandy and Judy, and they are especially grateful. The volunteer with the most active role is Sue Shields, a retired microbiologist from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration and a former restaurant owner.

Shields visited the farm a year ago during the annual Skagit County Tour of Farms and afterward called the Jensens and asked if they could use a microbiologist who spent her career analyzing imported European cheeses for health standards.

Shields — a silver-haired, no-nonsense 60-year-old who can easily heft the bulkiest round of cheddar — is an integral part of the farm, helping in the cheesemaking, marketing and delivering, including flying samples to Orcas Island in her own plane, then convincing the owner of Rose's Cafe & Bakery he needed the cheese. He's now a regular customer.

Shields was instrumental in getting Golden Glen cheese at PCC Natural Markets, Whole Foods and many others. "She's always just walking into places and saying, 'Here! You guys just have to try this cheese!' " Brandy said.

To Shields, the Jensens are like family.

"It's gratifying to be needed. Not everything is about money," she said.

The Jensens, like other farmstead cheesemakers, say educating consumers is part of the challenge. Golden Glen makes gouda, several varieties of cheddar, curds and fresh mozzarella. Unlike cheese made in large factories, Golden Glen uses no coloring or additives so the cheese is creamy white — there's not a duck-bill orange anywhere.

"The color is the first thing people ask," Brandy said as she lifted packages of cheddar into a box to be shipped to Seattle later in the day. "We just ask them, 'What's the color of milk?' "

For the Jensens, it's the color of the good life.

Nancy Bartley: 206-464-8522 or nbartley@seattletimes.com