Where have all the farmers gone?

Here's an interesting statistic I learned from my environmental science class: A little over a century ago farmers made up approximately 50% of the workforce. Today, that percentage is less than one. The professor asked us to raise our hand if we came from a farming family. In a class of 30, the only hand that was up belonged to yours truly. I was shocked to say the least. I knew that farming was on the decline, but I wasn't aware it was that steep -- even in an area like Green Bay that I see tons of farms when I'm driving around back country roads.


Why am I so attracted to seeing barns and silos and tractors and clothes hanging out on the line to dry? Why, on such beautiful days like today and yesterday, do I feel compelled to get in my car, and drive to the countryside? Yesterday I didn't even connect to google maps to trace a route before I left -- and I unknowingly blew off a meeting that was scheduled in the afternoon - something that I have NEVER done before. I was so drawn to the outdoors, and I had to immerse myself in it, that I completely forgot about all else and just followed my instincts.


Normally I would drive north or south of campus, but yesterday I went straight west to what I then found out was Seymour and followed the setting sun (which unfortunately was occurring much faster than usual thanks to dear friend daylight savings). Once I made it out of Ashwaubenon, it was farm after farm after farm. It probably wasn't the safest thing to do, but after trying to come up with some writing ideas for my independent study in creative writing, I decided to let my camera be my eyes while I drove and just pointed and clicked at random times. I waited to see what I came up with until I got back to my apartment, and even though the photos are pure crapola....some do capture the mood I was feeling as I drove - rushing by the farms and just trying to take it all in -- a blur.


For the first time in a long, long time I felt my stress pack up its bags and move on out. It was just me, alone in my car, and following my instincts not knowing where I was headed. In a way, it was like having my brain massaged and freed from distraction. So much so that when I got the phone call that I was late for a meeting, all I could say was - I am so sorry, I completely forgot, but at the moment I am driving and honestly don't know where I am, and I'm just going to keep driving until I make my way back, and I'm not sure when that will be - we're going to have to reschedule.
I made it back a half hour before the sun went down, and I really surprised myself how natural it felt to make the turns and feel as though I was in my hometown - it felt so familiar to drive past a field that a farmer was burning and drive through the wafting smoke, a scent that brings me back to my childhood. Or when I saw a willow tree in a front yard of a farm house - a similar setting on my road back home, or a tractor sitting unused outside of a barn. When I came back to campus, I felt refreshed, but also grateful that I have this attachment to my rural roots. It can be hard when the weather is crummy, but it makes those sunny warm days with a cool breeze so much better.

The problem with pursuing any sort of photographic journey in this area is that a month from now I will not live here anymore. I will be back in the farm house I grew up in, in the small community that, though I may not know every one of them, they certainly know my family, and by association - me. Most people who can't remember my name from that place know me as "John's daughter" -which is not something I loathe, because I love my dad and an proud of him, but at the same time, I want them to know me - and I them. My grandma and dad will be talking sometimes about someone in the community -- many of which we are distantly related to (first cousins once removed and all that business) -- and they will assume I know the person and their family history and what they do for a living, what illnesses they have, and so on and so forth. And when I always say, no I don't know that person, all I get back is - oh, of course you know Roger Kupfer, of course you know Dale Maas, or Gib Tietz, etc. But really I don't, and I wish I did, or at least have some connection to these people my family knows for one reason or another, but mainly because we live in a small, tight-knit community. And I'm not talking about the kind of communio that SNC claims to be - no, there's no facade over the town of Lebanon -- this is a community that is connected. And whether or not I claim it, I am a part of this place.


My roommate Beth (Groshek) and I were talking about her senior show that she is doing in the weeks ahead, and I felt as though the two of us were reliving childhood memories. When we had intro with Shane together last fall, Beth's final project consisted of photos of farmers from her hometown. Two photos in particular are especially meaningful to me - one of her father as his hands cover his head in the barn, saying the rosary (not a staged photo by the way) and the other of a farmer holding his cap in one hand and squinting toward the sun. These photos are so honest to me. So true to what my perceptions are of the older farming generation. Sad but proud - burdened but honorable men.
Now that Beth and I have lived together and gotten to know one another better this semester, we've come to realize how similar are families are - especially our dads. And in some ways I think that having come from farming families that are no longer in working order, we have a certain understanding that only those children can know. A feeling of having to watch as your parents struggle to make ends meet, ultimately having to turn away from their passion of farming (which for my father seemed to be a lifeline) and find a new occupation, or like Beth's parents - forced into early retirement due to her father's recent heart attack. We've seen our fathers age quickly in the past few years. We blame our own psychotic need to be perfectionists and finish any assigned task no matter how difficult or strenuous, because that's just what you do -that's the only example we've ever known - and if you're going to do something, you'd better do it right the first time.

As we talked tonight, we were both being inspired by one another. Beth had her old batch of test photos in her photo box and we pulled them out and looked at them - saw how she had progressed in even just one semester, and she told me how terrifying and nerve racking it was to meet with these people in her community and take photos of them. Beth and I have lately been talking about taking a road trip out west after we graduate in December and making it a photo journey (we both are looking into job prospects in California, too). But we need to find a job first around our hometowns to even get money to make that photo trip happen, but in the meantime we thought about extending our projects. Her project of shooting her hometown (near Wittenberg) and more than just the farmers- but their wives and families, the landscapes and the town. And my project of shooting my family - but more than just my grandma and dad. I want to know more about my family and its history, not just from those in my family, but also those in my community, and by extension, my community of Lebanon itself. So as we talked, we realized that we were both sort of heading in the same direction. We talked about farming in general, what it was like to grow up that way, and how we knew just how difficult it also is for a farmer's spouse to be their through thick and thin, rain or snow. We want to support each other in any way for both of our projects, bouncing ideas back and forth, and maybe one day collaborating on a book project or an exhibition. But we both have to deny our instinct to see the end result and follow a certain path to get their as we have been trained all these years and to just let go.

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Check out these photos by Dean Riggott who wrote a book called "Life on the Farm: A Pictorial Journey of Minnesota's Farmland and Its People" which took over 4 years to compile. If you know of any other photographers who shot their communities and its people and landscape (especially rural life) please let me know and I'll also pass on the info to Beth too. We are both uber inspired right now, and I can't tell you how great it feels to have someone to talk to that has grown up very similar to how you have, and who shares some of the same passions as you. We may not agree on everything, but if you have someone who you trust to share your photos with (which I hope we can continue to do on this blog despite what may be going on in our lives) take full advantage of them! Help each other - motivate each other - support one another. One week we're griping about the uncleanliness of our apartment, and now this week we are psyched to keep each other motivated with our projects. Friendships (like all relationships) have their ups and downs -- and sometimes it is just where each person is at in their life. That doesn't mean you should stop associating with them just because you have some beef with them. We are artists -- we should be able to put aside personal junk that gets in the way from time to time and help each other out so we can keep improving.