In August 2025 the United States increased its tariff on Swiss cheese by 29%. The impact on Switzerland’s dairy industry was immediate.
Cheese makers cut production in anticipation of a fall in US demand. An unusually wet spring had grown rich grass and well-fed cows. This added to the problem by creating a milk glut.
Some farmers took the decision to send their cattle to early slaughter; others decided to wait in case the tariff was reversed or reduced (which it was, three months later).
The thought of thousands of wheels of cheese resting idly in cellars across the country reminded me of an experience I had more than thirty years ago.
It was 1993. I was living in Switzerland and working as a regression therapist (looking at how past events can influence the way we behave in the present). A colleague recommended me to a local cheese maker whose cheese had inexplicably started to curdle.
For two years in a row he had been forced to throw away Gruyere and Emmental worth thousands of francs. He had tried everything, even calling in experts from Bern and Zurich, all to no effect. It was a mystery.
You can’t run a check on huge wheels of cheese to see how they are doing. Only when the aging cycle is complete – and this can take from six to eighteen months – can you cut through the rind in order to assess the quality of your cheese.
If it were to happen again, Herr Steck told me, he would have to declare bankruptcy.
I explained that this was not really my area of expertise. And yet … as I saw it, neither he nor I had anything to lose. I called a friend, who had trained with me, and we agreed to go to the Steck farm together.
Separately she and I went in to every room and space that was part of the cheese-making process – the milking stables, the churn rooms and the cellars where the enormous wheels of cheese lay slowly curing. The farm was old and the stone spaces were damp and offered very little sunlight.
As I sat on a stool in a small and empty cellar, I became aware of the presence of a very old woman. The word that came to me was ‘crone’. Used in its positive aspect, the crone archetype is a wise woman, the embodiment of feminine wisdom, intuition, truth and courage.
She seemed shrivelled and bitter and I had a sense that she had been in this dark, damp place for years and years.
These withered, wise and angry women were everywhere, in every room. At first they frightened me, but gradually, I recognised their sadness and also their depletion. They were caught by their situation.
I imagined a pillar of light in the centre of each room and encouraged them to move out of their dark corners and into the light. At first it was slow but, over time, the release became easier and it seemed as though they moved forward more quickly and with less fear.
Three hours later I re-emerged into the daylight. I was exhausted but I felt energised as well. We said goodbye to the farmer and went home.
Speaking to my friend afterwards, we discovered that our experiences had been strikingly similar.
I told Herr Steck that he should only pay us if what we had done proved to be helpful. I suggested he contact me in the spring once he had assessed the quality of the fully-matured cheese.
I reflected on this experience a lot during the weeks and months that followed. I thought about the role of women in Swiss culture, especially women of my mother’s generation who had worked hard on family farms in what was an extremely patriarchal society. Women were not given the vote until 1971. In the canton of Appenzell they had to wait until 1990.
I thought too about cheese-making and the fact that it is such a silent, internal process. The incubation period is similar to the time it takes an embryo to develop in the womb.
The following spring, Herr Steck and I spoke on the phone. He sounded cheerful. His cheese wheels, he told me, were in good shape and he was preparing them for market.
“Whatever you did”, he said, “it worked.”
Bertholt Brecht Mother Courage and Her Children, 1939
Lea O’Connell-Kummer 18th July, 1917 – 12th October, 1996