Pioneer Electric Cooperative

But it’s not just milk or even the marketing of genetics from their purebred cattle that’s at the heart of the business. From the start, it’s the educational aspect of the farm that appealed to Bonnie and John, who are members of Piqua-based Pioneer Electric Cooperative.  Each summer, the Ayarses welcome hundreds of local elementary school students to the education center they built on the farm. Visitors get to meet and touch famous cows like Buckeye Bessie, Honeybun, and Bravo. They feed calves, try to milk a cow, and sample ice cream made on the farm.

Bender keeps his favorites; they’re a regular part of his wardrobe. But he also gives them away: to neighbors who can’t donate anymore, to friends, to anyone who might wear one out into the world and make someone else think twice about passing by the next blood drive. 

He doesn’t give blood for the shirts. He does it for what happens inside St. Michael Hall, the recurring home to Fort Loramie’s drives.

Joslin grew up in Sidney, and moved to Wyoming after high school to be a sheep rancher. After six years, he returned to Ohio to farm, and in 1917, he helped found the Shelby County Farm Bureau, laying the foundation for cooperative action. Reserved but determined, Joslin became known for his ability to earn trust and get results — he was well known for his mantra, “Let’s get it done” — and in 1935 he was the county farm bureau’s president.

In truth, Halderman never envisioned a full-blown museum on the family farm near Tipp City where he grew up, says Karen Koenig, Halderman’s daughter, who is now the curator. After he retired from the Ford Motor Company in 1994, he merely wanted to display some Mustang and other Ford memorabilia in his man cave at one end of the barn. He enjoyed greeting visitors there and sharing stories about his career designing cars until the day he died in 2020. 

“We saved a certain section of the orchard for the gleaners,” she says. “I told the [professional] pickers not to pick those peaches. We like to give back to the community and to those in need. That’s one of our purposes in life.”

Her world includes her husband, Nick, three little girls (ages 6, 7, and 9), and, at any one time, more than 100 head of black Angus cattle, 48 turkeys, and 350 chickens, all on their 13-acre farm near Mechanicsburg. Hogs are kept at her sister-in-law’s farm down the road. They also have two bulls (with rings in their noses), three dogs, a horse, and a cute little pony just for fun.

Emily’s story is typical for co-op members. They get their electricity from, and pay their bills to, one of Ohio’s 25 electric distribution cooperatives; usually vote in the election for the co-op’s board of directors; and maybe attend the annual meeting of members. They might even get capital credits in the form of a check or a bill credit at the end of the year when the not-for-profit co-op’s revenues outpace its expenses.

Pink Ribbon Girls serves five regions: Dayton, Cincinnati, and Columbus in Ohio; St. Louis, Missouri; and the Bay Area in California. The organization’s sights are set on expanding their reach to other regions throughout the country, to ensure that no one has to battle breast or gynecological cancers alone.

As Hohenstein can attest, breast cancer affects more than the individual — it affects the entire family.

Eventually, the electric cooperative tent got so popular that the co-ops decided to pool their money and erect a permanent structure on the grounds in 2008. 

While he was driving his tractor on the roadway, a distracted driver — shopping on her phone and, based on crash reconstruction analysis, distracted for a full 16 seconds — plowed into the tractor and took John’s life. 

From that moment, everything changed. John’s death left Leah to raise their children, ranging in age from 8 months old to 9 years, by herself. “I lost my husband, my partner, and the father of my children,” Leah says. “Life got hard — really hard — and it happened instantly.”