A radio sits in the crux of two pipelines at the top of the parlor. It’s mostly tipped to its side and tentatively secured by a piece of baling twine. Dust clogs the speakers and the quality of the reception changes every time a cow walks past it on her way to the free-stalls. It adds to the breathing sounds of the parlor and has a calming effect on both the cattle and the farmer — but more than that, it has a tendency to get us singing, whether we meant to or not.