By Amber Friedrichsen, ACN SIG and Webinar Chair
How many times have you introduced someone in a story as a fifth-, sixth-, or seventh-generation farmer? How often do you describe the farms that you feature by the number of generations they’ve been in business? Have you ever written about a beginning farmer and emphasized the fact that they represent the first generation of their family to work in agriculture?
My answers to these questions are: many; often; and yes, several times over. As an ag journalist, I find myself referring to the number of generations that have been involved on a farm by default. I insert that nugget of information into the majority of my feature stories as a nod to the dedication those family members have demonstrated. I’ve also leveraged the “first-generation” qualifier to suggest that whomever I’m writing about has overcome challenges unique to those trying to get started in an industry that would otherwise favor someone with more established roots.
But maybe farmers don’t want to be defined by a number. And maybe doing so distracts from more important aspects of their stories.
Before attending the ACN Fall Regional Workshop last month in Sun Prairie, Wis., I never considered that looking back on a farm’s timeline may not elicit sentimental emotions from those who live and work on it. And assuming that the number of generations to farm will continue to count on isn’t always a fair assumption. In some cases, talking about generations and farm legacies might elicit creeping feelings of comparison.
During the workshop, a panel discussion titled “How to Cover Difficult Topics” addressed some of the most sensitive and stigmatized topics that we will tackle as ag journalists: farmer suicide and mental health. Panelists included Karen Endres with the Wisconsin Farm Center, Dorothy Harms with the Farmer Angel Network, Doug Rebout with the Wisconsin Soybean Association, and Wendy Volkert with the Wisconsin Farm Bureau, all of whom specialize in and/or have personal experience with farmer suicide and mental health services.
The discussion included sobering statistics on rural suicide rates, instructions for word choice and tone when writing about mental health, and the roles we can play as communicators in sharing these topics with a larger audience. The panelists also recognized the need for more available and accessible mental health services that are specifically designed for farmers and provided by professionals who understand the mental, physical and emotional demands of the farming lifestyle.
What stood out to me during the session was more of a tangent than a main idea. It was the suggestion that mental health struggles stem from decades of generational trauma and stress, not necessarily the present-day problems with ag policy and market dynamics that we are more inclined to cover. As a group, we pondered how the pressure to succeed — or at least not to fail — could be a significant burden that farmers carry but disguise as commitment to the family business. The weight of expectations handed down from one generation to the next could be more exhausting than honorable.
Instead of a source of pride, a farm’s legacy could be a source of pain.
On the other hand, farmers who don’t consider their farms to be of legacy status may feel less worthy compared to their longer tenured counterparts. Rebout attested to this from the table of panelists, noting that when asked what generation he is to farm, he often becomes self-conscious.
“I’m only the second,” he said. Only. As if being the second generation was something to be ashamed of.
Another member of the audience shared that when asking a farmer about his family’s next generation during an interview, the farmer got emotional. His children weren’t interested in farming, and the business that he dedicated the better part of his life to building was now at risk of falling apart.
That gave me pause.
One of the last questions I typically ask farmers during my own interviews is what the future holds for their farms. I’ve been told about plans for expansion, hope for their children to take over, and long-term goals for continuous improvement. Those answers always feel like the bow on top of an optimistic outlook. I’ve also heard about plans to downsize, considerations of selling out, and great concern for the fate of the farm in the early stages of succession. It’s tougher to weave those hard truths into my writing. But I’ve never been met with tears.
The panel discussion-turned group conversation made me rethink how I approach farmer interviews. It challenged my assumption that long family histories and farm legacies are good notes to start stories on, when those details might not strike a positive chord with those who find themselves in that position.
It also made me wonder if the ag community has created noble narratives around decades-old operations and first-generation farming, causing people who fall in between that range to feel inferior. That may be something to consider when covering difficult topics like farmer suicide and mental health. At the very least, it’s something we can extend more compassion for the next time we talk to a farmer.
– Friedrichsen is managing editor at Hay & Forage Grower