Will Farm, Can Travel

Colin and I recently returned from a week-long course in Wyoming called Ranching for Profit. I was calling it a vacation before we left but was hesitant to share anymore details than necessary with friends.  Put “vacation” and or “profit” in the same sentence with agricultural context and you’re guaranteed reactions ranging from funny looks to sharp insults.

You can’t make a living farming.

You have to inheriting land to make it.

You had better do all your traveling now because you can’t leave a farm.

These messages are engrained in the agricultural industry.  Our 4-H trips and college studies have been in part with the goal of finding that magic bullet to let farming for yourself be a full-time career and be a career that didn’t consume all aspects of your life.  I’m not here to tell you we found that magic on our vacation-not-really-vacation, but we did relearn the framework of a viable farm business, financially and personally.  Lucky for us, we’d already shed any illusions about simple answers.  Also lucky for us, our outlook on a future in farming has gained a positive motif after attending the course.  Our hopes and dreams are evolving into plans and a sense of accountability to our goals.  I don’t want to make this into a sales pitch for the course, but I must say, the opportunity to spend a week with so many like-minded and optimistic farmers and ranchers was worth as much as the course material.  Our time away for shearing, sheep acquisition, and continuing education doesn’t lead us to any typical destinations, making it easy to separate from the kind of experiences we see our peers partake in.  It is worth something special though.

            Travel for shearing means in place of national historic markers and advertised attractions we sit down at kitchen tables after a day’s shearing interrupting average weekdays that include school drop offs and neighbor’s visits that bring stories of the latest 4H fundraisers and unseasonable storms.  In a hotel conference room in Wyoming we weren’t welcomed into anyone’s home quite so literally, but I learned of average rainfall, terrain climbed by cattle and working horses, what it’s like to walk through sage brush, how families gather, what’s the local feed store banter, how many miles exist between cell service, and anxieties around land accessibility mirroring what we feel back east.  In the same vein I explained mud season and what kind of byproduct feeds are available to us, such as the brewers grains we can get cheap from breweries similar to the distillers grains from western ethanol plants. The same resourcefulness from two very different regional industries.  There is value in seeing the most visited pin on the map, but a true sense of place comes from something else. What’s the word for the kind of travel that is rooted in people?  There’s no thought to politics or religion until we have swapped stories of sunrises and droughts.  And I can’t help but imagine how much my experiences would lessen if I disregarded all that I’ve learned from the folks who vote differently, if only we didn’t start off a conversation with “How’re the winters here?”  It is the kind of travel that humanizes a population I may read about in the news during the next wildfire or election cycle. 

            I am somewhat disappointed we didn’t take the time to get out of the hotel and explore more.  Someday, someday isn’t a great way to start a plan but, someday when our situation feels a bit more stable and goals aren’t so far off, maybe we’ll go out to see the well-known destinations.  For now, I know what we’re experiencing is just as valuable.  The kind of network built outside of your comfort zone, steps far and away from the recommended path towards conventional success, is proving itself priceless.  We have met people young and old making a living farming.  Many of whom have not inherited land or livestock and have traveled to amazing places.  The new message I heard loud and clear last week from my classmates is the value in our unwavering fervor, mine and Colin’s.  That appetite to learn and explore ideas and be creative is a gift.

            There’s a particular memory I can’t seem to shake when I was told to get rid of my sheep so I could travel more.  In the last thirteen months I’ve gone by plane, car, and boat to see more of this country and the people living in it than seems reasonable - to small towns unheard of and agricultural carve outs in idolized vacation destinations.  And I wouldn’t have done any of it if it weren’t for my sheep.