They converged on Springfield, Mo., with insecurities about what might happen at home in their absence, and found themselves helpless and on vacation in the unrelenting heat of June.

It was the 2012 National Holstein Convention, where 800 people gathered. A week of farm tours, sightseeing and networking went along with 100-degree temps and 37 kinds of apprehension as dairymen enjoyed each other’s company – with the nagging thought of what was happening at home in the backs of their minds.

Truly in a catch-22, these dairymen were happy their farm help would call and ask questions, but cringed with every vibration of their cell phone.

With several calls logged, the first day was uneventful: no cows calving, no engines blown and the barns were still standing. But as the week went forward, things weren’t quite as smooth on the home front.

I walked into the pre-sale gathering on Thursday night and one farmer from southern Ohio looked at me with a defeated face and said, “Well, guess what happened at home? The milk pump went out, and they are milking the whole herd with the bucket milker and the portable vacuum pump.”

My heart sank for this helpless man who hadn’t been off the farm in quite a long time. I tried to reassure him that things were going to be okay, but I knew nothing I said would matter; he still wanted to be home to take care of the problem.

The next evening would bring more turmoil to more dairymen. I walked into the auditorium where the sale would be held, and the same man looked at me with a helpless grin and said, “Well, guess what happened now? The power went out!”

While he was telling me about that, Marlon Bontrager of Iowa was on stage entertaining the crowd with his wife and 10 kids. While they sang and played their instruments, Marlon’s mind was on his blown milk pump back in Iowa, as his phone kept vibrating in his pocket with calls from his hired man wondering how he was going to milk the cows.

By the time the sale was over, it was well-known a storm had blown through the Midwest, knocking out power from Indiana to the East Coast. Every dairyman in Springfield had their phone to their ear calling to console and instruct those left at home with no power.

The next day they could have ditched the schedule and had an all-day dairy-farmer-away-from-home-and-catastrophe-strikes support group meeting. It would have been a full room, as they could have told their horror stories, commiserated and compared war wounds.

At the final farewell banquet, you could have counted the dairymen in attendance on one hand. Most had headed home to take care of their investments and left the industry individuals to carry on the party.

Note to dairy convention planners: Plan your next event where there is no cell phone reception, and Pepto-Bismol by the gallon.

The views and opinions expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of Farm World. Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.