PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

Brunton Dairy, an old-fashioned family business shuttered by a 2023 fire, just reopened in the Digital Age.

“The cows adjusted to the technology faster than we did,” Herb Brunton says with a laugh as he tinkers with new, high-tech milk processing equipment. “The way the world’s going now, you have to.”

For seven generations, the Bruntons have maintained the 210-acre property in Independence without a lot of gadgets and gizmos. Now they’re working with automated milkers, a Roomba-esque manure machine and a cow-recognition system that measures the health data of all 103 Holsteins.

PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

Since June, the “robots” have streamlined operations at the Beaver County dairy, helping their human counterparts churn out whole, 2% and chocolate milk in plastic pints and half-gallon glass bottles that add Americana magic to each pour.

Other Brunton staples such as cream, buttermilk and ice cream soon will return to the on-site store. In the meantime, you can stock up on fresh beef, locally sourced butter, bacon, sausage, honey, jams, jellies and pies. I suggest that you try Brunton’s new line of cheese curds — they’re more addictive than Milk Duds!

When I arrived at the dairy “down the lane” on a beautiful August morning, there were already several vehicles (and one riding lawn mower) parked in front of the shop. At 10:00 a.m. sharp, Stacy Brunton opened the door and greeted each customer by name.

PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

She extends the same courtesy to her beloved cows. Every heifer in the herd has a moniker and a personality to match.

Myrtle is super chill, despite being burned in the blaze that killed half a dozen other livestock. Her fourth birthday party was held July 25 in the new state-of-the-art facility, where there’s plenty of room to mooove.

The night of the fire, the Bruntons scrambled to get their surviving cows to safety. Ninety percent of the herd went to the Craig Family Farm in Clinton. The owners had recently retired from the dairy business and still had all of the equipment and an empty barn available.

Even if you don’t believe in Divine Intervention, that kind of serendipity will make you stop and say, “holy cow!”

It took some time for the cows — who were used to being tied to individual stalls while they were being milked — to adjust to the open, parlor-style layout of their temporary digs. But, like teenagers on the latest social media app, they adjusted. And so did the Bruntons, who returned daily to milk them.

The cows came home on the morning of Dec. 3, 2024. By 10 a.m., they were already being milked by bots.

PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

While the high-tech efficiency is nice, no machine can replace the Brunton family bond.

Stacy remembers milking cows by hand with her grandfather and still has the homemade, udder-shaped candy sack she carried while masquerading as a cow one Halloween long ago. It’s hanging behind the cash register, still filled with sweets.

Customers, especially those who opt for home delivery, are more like relatives.

Someone once left a note on their front door directing the Brunton delivery driver to kindly leave the bottle in the fridge — and don’t forget to grab a slice of pie on the way out. That story is more wholesome than milk.

Before the fire, there were 1,200 home delivery accounts. As of press time, the retro service was still on pause, but matriarch Mary Jane Brunton says she hopes to reconnect with all of her extended “family” in the months ahead.

PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

I’m ready to move in after Mary Jane took me on a tour of the facility. It’s a lazy animal utopia where calves and kittens nap together and heifers lounge on water beds.

Admittedly, I’m a Luddite; my interest in computers petered out shortly after I first logged onto my college roommate’s Gateway PC (a line that was famously packaged in cow-print boxes).

Maybe that’s why I was hypnotized by Brunton’s automated milker and all of its wires and blinking lights. Designed by a company based in the Netherlands, the Lely Astronaut can pump approximately 25 pounds of liquid from a teat in three to five minutes. Doing that the old-fashioned way would take a pair of workers two hours or more.

As we walk down the long, gravel driveway back to the dairy shop, Mary Jane’s granddaughters meet us halfway. Beaming with pride, she tells me that the girls are prepping their favorite cow to win a Blue Ribbon at the Hookstown Fair.

Let’s see a robot do that.