I was raised in a small, dairy city called Chino in California. There were cows around — you could surely smell their presence, especially on a warm morning. (That is a column for another day.) The dairies were visible and those who worked at them were easy to pick out in town. There is a certain odor to dairy folks and a certain appearance that gave them away. Dairy folks dressed simply. They wore blue jeans that weren’t really blue anymore, along with button down shirts with “sweat rags�...