“You have such a pretty place and you always keep it looking so good, but I suppose you have to when you live right by the highway,” the lady said to us.
I told her the place looks pretty good – from the road. What does the view from the road say about the people who live there? I suppose it says something about their priorities.
I had never been to the cattleman’s yard, but I had seen his cattle at sales and shows. His were some of the best, with a national reputation for being top quality. But when we approached his yard, I could see some of the buildings needed painting. Some corrals needed repair. I was a little surprised and disappointed. Does the outward appearance of a farm or ranch send a message about the quality of what’s produced there or just priorities?
Thirty years ago, some people in Vermont thought there was a connection between quality and appearance. In the spring of 1996, that state began a program that rewarded farmers who “helped maintain the state’s image.” Promoters said if the public gets a “good feeling” when looking at farms, the public will be more likely to look favorably at the products from those farms. They’ll be more likely to buy milk sourced from Vermont dairy farms if they imagine “cows lying on green grass with well-kept farms in the background, rather than images of manure piles and falling down facilities.”
The view from the road was a big topic of discussion in 1984. The group, Keep North Dakota Clean, proposed “Operation Landscape,” a plan to remove abandoned farm buildings as a way to make the state beautiful in time for the North Dakota centennial five years later. Proponents argued especially old farm buildings that can be viewed from state highways should be removed.
I struck up a conversation not long ago with a man I didn’t know who shared his memories of growing up on a farm. I asked him if the farm is still in the family and if he ever goes back there. “No,” he said. The farm had been sold and the farmer who bought it tore down all the buildings and tore out the trees. He said there’s nothing left. Nothing. So, now the passerby on the road may see a big bountiful field, while the man who grew up there sees nothing.
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Al Gustin is a retired farm broadcaster, active rancher and a member of Mor-Gran-Sou Electric Cooperative.
