Do Farmers wear business suits?

I recently read a blog entry about local food. The author was breaking down the energy it takes to get food from the farm to the dinner table, and debunking some common beliefs about local food. Read it here. A short and very interesting read.

Don’t get me wrong. I love local food! I love the farmer’s market! I love CSAs (Community Supported Ag)! Locally grown produce and meat provide an excellent opportunity for those who don’t have a connection to food production. And they provide my family with fresh food when it’s in season. But… (you knew there was going to be a but) that doesn’t mean that modern/industrial farming is the “bad guy.” There is a place and a need in this world for all forms of agriculture.

Anyway… there was a person on this blog that commented that small local farmers wear blue jeans and worry about their crops, unlike “industrial” farmers in the Midwest who wear suits and worry about their balance sheet. Ok, I know many of you who read this blog are in the Midwest. And most of you have met a farmer. Was he or she wearing a suit?? Probably not.

So many terms get thrown around when it comes to food production. What do they even mean? I’m a farmer in the heartland of America, just 50 miles from Cedar Rapids, the “Food Capital of the World” and I’m not really even sure….

My crops and livestock are sold, for the most part, to food processing companies. Does that make me an “industrial” farmer? My hogs are kept indoors. Does that make me a “factory?” I use herbicides and have a professional accountant do my taxes. Does that mean I’m “corporate?”

All of the labor and management on my farm is done by family. Does that make me a “family” farmer? I sell beef directly to local customers. Does that make me a “local” farm? We use cover crops, no-till, and crop rotation. Does that mean we’re “sustainable?”

I have been known to do cattle chores and get covered in manure (although my husband is the champion at getting dirty, he can look at dirt and it will stick to him). Then the next day I will be dressed in a business suit to attend a Farm Bureau gathering. I’m so confused! Am I supposed to do only one of these activities?

Then there are the days that there isn’t enough time to transition from one role to the other and you end up walking into the bank with your filthy, holey jeans on. Or you extend your dirty greasy hand to family from the city who decided to stop by for a visit.

Then there’s the other way around. Such as when you’re on your way to church and spot 40 head of feeder calves plowing through the newly planted corn field. There isn’t enough time to go home and change into your chore clothes. Or, you go straight to the field after prenatal classes (because you know if you miss one your baby is gonna come out with three legs and hairy ears) because the weather is perfect for the first time in weeks for soybean harvest.

Yes. All of the above situations really happened to me.

I’m not rare. This is how agriculture in the Midwest is. The people you see on the cover of the Farm Bureau Spokesman in their business suits are the same people you will meet on the road with their tractors and manure spreaders. The same people you will see in the bleachers at their kid’s tee ball game.

People who think that “industrial” farming is a horrible, evil, greedy, destructive way of life are the reason I blog. The way they see modern farming just isn’t so.

Written by Liz Nieman

Observation: Least Prestigious Jobs Often Most Important

Read all directions. Failing to heed a lesson we all learned in grade school cost me an awkward afternoon in a men’s locker room at Drake University. It also reminded me to appreciate the people working behind the scenes to guarantee the quality and legitimacy of things we take for granted.

A few weeks ago, I was lured by an urgent Facebook message from a friend promising $125-$150 for a half day’s work at the U.S. Track and Field Championships in Des Moines. I quickly responded that I would help. A few hours later, I reread her letter more closely.

“It is not a glamorous position…[the sample observer] is responsible for just that…witnessing the sample collection.”

“Well, crap,” I thought. “I just signed up to collect pee cups.” It didn’t sound pleasant, but I was already signed up. Plus, I had spent a good chunk of my childhood cleaning manure out of hog barns for a lot less than $30 an hour. How bad could this be? Athlete goes into stall, closes door, fills sample cup, comes out and hands me cup.

My mindset changed the day of the event, when I learned that a sample observer actually observes…everything. I was told that without the visual confirmation of a sample observer (start to finish), drug test results for an athlete are considered null and void.

That didn’t make me any more comfortable about watching people pee (which now ranks ahead of cleaning hog barns as the worst job I’ve ever had). But it was surprising to learn how much the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency (USADA) – the organization that tests athletes – and the millions of Americans that watch Olympic sports depend on a group of newly-minted part-time “observers” to ensure athletes are “clean.”

But it shouldn’t surprise any of us. Think of the products and services you trust and depend upon. Usually there’s a group of men and women on the front lines performing undesirable tasks that are critical to the final outcome. There are so many that Mike Rowe has built a career just bringing attention to these “dirty jobs.”

While I consider farming a noble profession, it has more than its share of dirty jobs that all of us depend on. Cleaning hog crates and helping cows calve in the middle of the night probably rank above “sample observer” on most people’s lists, but don’t ask them to give up their day jobs to take on these responsibilities.

That’s cool. It’s not for everyone, but every meat-eating American expects that the pork chop on his/her plate came from a pig that lived in clean, comfortable and healthy conditions. It takes a little dirty work to keep that pig “clean.”

So a little respect, please, for the crate washer and the sample observer. Maybe you don’t want to be them, but you certainly don’t want to be without them.

Written by Zach Bader
Zach is a Communications Specialist for Iowa Farm Bureau.