My roots are deeply embedded in the soil of farming. Born and raised on a farm, I am a farmer’s daughter, part of a lineage that stretches back generations. My grandparents and great-grandparents dedicated their lives to the land, a heritage I carry with immense pride. Growing up, my vision of the future was painted with the familiar strokes of farm life, albeit in a traditional role. I envisioned myself as a farmer’s wife, mirroring the paths of my mother, grandmothers, and aunts – the steadfast support system, managing meals, books, and countless other essential tasks that kept the farm running smoothly.
Then a thought sparked: Why couldn’t I be the farmer? It took years to fully realize that my own aspirations lay in a direct connection with the land, our family’s land, tilling the soil just as my father and grandfather had. Farming is in my blood, a deeply ingrained part of who I am. However, the course had been set long ago, even predating my birth. The traditional framework seemed immutable, unchangeable by anyone, even those who might have wished to alter it.
I recall a pivotal moment when I dared to challenge this unspoken decree. There was one person who held the power to validate or shatter my farming aspirations. I inquired about the possibility of inheriting a portion of our family land when the time came for its passing. My expectations were not for equal ownership with my male cousins, but simply for a piece of the land I knew intimately – the land of my childhood, where I played, rode tractors with my Dad, walked bean fields, and laid our beloved pets to rest. The same land that nurtured my father and grandfather. I yearned for a piece to call my own, to farm, and to continue the legacy.
But my request was met with a firm wall of impossibility. The reason? Somewhere along the line, perhaps even before my grandparents had a voice, farming had become synonymous with a family surname, a legacy tethered to gender. It was a painful revelation to be told that my path to farming and land ownership lay in marrying a farmer. I was presented with a plat book, a guide to local landowners, and advised to find my place through marriage. As a woman who might adopt another surname, I was perceived as a threat to the family’s heritage, a disruption to what generations had built. All because of my gender.
I hold hope that this antiquated mindset is fading. In fact, I believe it is. I witness examples of change unfolding. And that is why the Pioneer Ad resonates so profoundly. It shines a light on a deeply ingrained problem and celebrates a remarkable shift in perspective and opportunity. Our collective, nostalgic view of a way of life, historically confined by gender rather than driven by genuine desire, skill, and values, is evolving. We cannot take land with us beyond this life. And who can say for certain if we can appreciate it afterward? For farmers contemplating the future of their legacy – the stewardship of land, the care for animals, the nurturing of our environment, and the production of our food – I urge you to evaluate your successors based on the very qualities that made you a great farmer. My grandfather was an exceptional farmer. His gender and surname were entirely irrelevant to that truth.
