Practical Homesteading

Tag: farmer mental health

  • June Dairy Month Recap: Stories from the Farmyard

    June Dairy Month Recap: Stories from the Farmyard

    As June Dairy Month comes to a close, I’ve been thinking about how much this month’s writing has revolved around farmers, hayfields, and the quiet weight of rural life. It wasn’t a strategic content plan so much as an honest outflow of what’s on my heart—and on my mind—this time of year.

    In case you missed any of the recent posts (or want to revisit them with fresh eyes), here’s a look back at the stories we’ve walked through together.

    The Old New Holland Baler and a Haying Legacy

    In one post, I took you out to the hayfield, where an old New Holland baler still clatters its way across the field, tying bales as steadily as it did in the 1960s. We followed its story from my grandfather’s horse-drawn days, through my dad’s years of frantic shear-pin changes and late‑night repairs, all the way to today’s summers under my father’s care.

    That baler became more than a machine—it stood in for a family legacy of persistence, resourcefulness, and care passed down from one set of hands to the next. Each bale it drops is a small monument to the people who refused to let it quit.

    Learning to Stop Hiding My Farm Roots

    Another post shifted from machinery to identity. I shared my “confession” that, for years, I tried to tuck my farm background away—doing just enough chores, avoiding being “too farm kid,” and choosing choirs over FFA. I wanted the values without the label.

    But homesteading habits kept creeping back: blanching green beans, learning to make sauerkraut, failing (and eventually succeeding) at homemade pizza. A glut of cucumbers and a Facebook post finally opened my eyes to how unusual my access to fresh food really was—and how much others valued what I took for granted.

    Through coworkers’ questions and friends’ enthusiasm, I began to see my rural upbringing not as a liability, but as an asset: a source of work ethic, resourcefulness, and a perspective that still shapes how I parent, homestead, and show up in my community.

    Naming the Hidden Weight Farmers Carry

    We also zoomed out to look more directly at farmer mental health. That post walked through the way farming has changed over the past forty years: fewer, larger farms; bigger equipment; “land rich and cash poor” realities; new diseases and pests; and markets that feel like a roller coaster.

    Layer by layer, we named the unseen pressures—chronic stress, isolation, identity and legacy, and stigma around asking for help. The goal wasn’t to drown anyone in statistics, but to give words to what many farmers and farm families are already feeling: that toughness doesn’t make you immune to stress, and that talking about it is an act of courage, not weakness.

    We also talked about what farmers need to hear (that being exhausted doesn’t mean you’re failing) and what the rest of us can do in small but meaningful ways: listening well, supporting local, sharing resources, and checking in after hard news.

    June Dairy Month from the Farmyard Side

    In honor of June Dairy Month, another piece turned the camera toward what June actually feels like on the farm. While towns see smiling cow posters, ice cream specials, and farm breakfasts, farmers see early alarms, hot barns, hayfields racing storms, and bills riding in their back pockets.

    I shared memories of June as “hold on tight and hope the machinery cooperates,” and explored how it can feel to be “celebrated” while you’re barely keeping up. For some, June Dairy Month is joyful; for others, it’s complicated. We imagined what farmers might actually want this month: fewer speeches and more listening, real prayers for safety and rest, quiet texts that say, “How are you holding up?” and resources that gently say, “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

    I also mention practical ways to honor farmers—asking better questions, dropping off food or encouragement during haying, and telling kids the story behind the milk in their glasses.

    A Barn Roof, a Helping Hand, and a Farm Friendship

    Most recently, I shared a story from before I was born, about how one small act—stopping to help on a red barn roof—turned two neighboring farmers into lifelong friends. A neighbor pulled in, climbed up despite a fear of heights, and offered a hand. From that afternoon on the peak, their lives became deeply intertwined through haying days, shared meals, weddings, and tough seasons.

    As a kid, I joined those hay crews, stacked bales until I was covered in dust, and ate big meals that felt like our own modern threshing bees. Looking back, I can see how that one moment of courage and kindness rippled through decades and shaped the community I grew up in.

    What Threads These Stories Together

    Across all these posts, a few themes keep surfacing:

    • The steady, sometimes unnoticed persistence of farmers and farm families
    • The way small acts—fixing an old baler, sharing cucumbers, stopping to help on a roof—carry forward into generations
    • The tension between public celebrations of agriculture and the private weight many farmers carry
    • The quiet, sturdy beauty of rural friendships and communities

    June Dairy Month may be the official reason to talk about cows and fields, but the stories don’t fit neatly into one month on a calendar. They’re ongoing, season after season.

    Feature Photo by GG LeMere on Unsplash

    If one of these posts resonated with you, I’m glad you were here. And if you’re a farmer, or love one, thank you—for the work you do, the courage it takes, and the stories you’re still living.

    If you have a minute, I’d love to know: which of these stories stuck with you most, and what would you like to see more of in the months ahead?

    If you know someone who loves farm stories—or someone who lives them—would you share this recap with them? Your shares and comments help these stories find the people who need them.

    Read Next: Growing Up on a Wisconsin Dairy Farm: Reflections for June Dairy Month

  • How to Truly Celebrate Farmers During June Dairy Month

    How to Truly Celebrate Farmers During June Dairy Month

    This piece is written in honor of the farmers who live June from the farmyard side of the fence, and for the neighbors who want to understand and support them a little better.

    Dairy cow in the field during June Dairy Month, cared for by farmers working long days.
    June celebrates dairy on the shelf, but every cow stands behind a farmer who got up early to care for her.

    June shows up every year with smiling cow cartoons, ice cream specials, and “June Dairy Month!” signs at the grocery store. Those things make me smile too. I love a good squeaky cheese curd or a deep‑fried cheese curd as much as the next person.

    But when I see those displays, my mind doesn’t go first to the dairy case. It goes to the people behind it—the farmers who are too busy scraping alleys, baling hay, fixing something that broke, or trying to make the numbers work to even notice that it’s “their month.”

    What June Looks Like From the Farm Side

    From town, June Dairy Month looks like ice cream socials and farm breakfasts. From the farmyard, it looks like:

    • An alarm that rings before the sky is pink.
    • Cows that don’t know it’s a holiday—they just know it’s milking time again.
    • Hayfields that are finally dry enough to cut and bale, and a forecast that may or may not cooperate.

    Maybe you’re hustling to get first‑crop hay in before a line of storms. Maybe you’re watching the thermometer climb and worrying about how your cows will handle the heat. Maybe you’re waiting on a haybine part that’s “supposed to be here tomorrow” while the grass gets a little older every day.

    Somewhere in the middle of it all, there’s a calf kicking up her heels in fresh bedding or a field that finally looks just right in the evening light—and you tuck that away as quiet fuel to keep going. When the world says, “Let’s celebrate farmers!,” June often says, “Let’s see how much more you can carry.”

    The Part the Posters Don’t Show

    When I was a kid, June didn’t feel like a themed month; it felt like “hold on tight and hope the machinery cooperates.” I remember:

    • The way supper got pushed later and later because there was still hay to bale, still a calf to treat, still a broken something to put back together.
    • The quiet mental math of “Can we afford this repair?” and “Will the milk check stretch far enough this month?”

    You didn’t see that on the posters at the grocery store. You still don’t. The public sees the ice cream cone; you see the list of bills in your back pocket while they enjoy it.

    How It Feels to Be “Celebrated”

    If you’re a farmer, you might get a lot of “Thank you, farmers!” posts in your feed this month. They’re kind, and they’re appreciated. But sometimes they land in a funny place in your chest.

    On the one hand, it feels good to be noticed. On the other hand, you may be thinking:

    • “If you really knew what this took, you’d understand why I’m too tired to come to the celebration.”
    • “I’m glad you love cheese, but I wish someone would ask how we’re really doing.”
    • “I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like I’m barely keeping up.”

    Being celebrated can be strange when you’re also wondering if the next generation will be able to keep doing this the way your family always has. Some farmers genuinely love every minute of June Dairy Month; others feel a twinge of something more complicated under the surface.

    What Farmers Might Actually Want This June

    If I could rewrite June Dairy Month from the farm side, it would still have ice cream and farm breakfasts. But it might also have:

    • A quiet text from a neighbor that says, “How are things holding up on your farm this spring?” or, better yet, “Can we help you with haying?”
    • A church announcement that includes not just a dairy potluck, but a prayer for farmers’ safety, sanity, and sleep.
    • A flyer at the co‑op with real support resources and a simple line: “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

    It might look like fewer speeches and more listening. Less, “Tell us your success story,” and more, “What’s been heavy this year, and how can we stand with you in it?”

    A Small Invitation for Non‑Farm Folks

    If you don’t farm but you love your milk, cheese, and summer sweet corn, you don’t need a big platform to make June “land” differently for the farmers in your life.

    You could:

    • Ask one real question and give space for a real answer: “What’s June like for you on the farm?”
    • Drop off a pan of bars or brownies, a pizza, or a gift card during haying or harvest, no strings attached.
    • Tell your kids, “This milk didn’t start in a carton. It started with a family that got up early today.”
    • Share a hotline number or farm stress resource quietly with a farmer friend and say, “No pressure at all. I just want you to have this in your back pocket.”

    None of that fixes markets or weather. But it tells a farmer, “I see you—not just what you produce.”

    A Word to the Farmers Reading This

    If June feels heavy instead of festive this year, you’re not doing it wrong.

    You can be proud of your work and still be tired of the fight. You can love your cows and your land and still feel worn down by the paperwork, the payments, and the pressure. You can be grateful and still be honest that this is hard.

    If all you do this June is keep going, catch your breath when you can, maybe say out loud to one safe person, “This is a lot right now”—that is enough. You’re more than a photo op or a slogan. You’re a whole person in boots and jeans and calloused hands, carrying decisions that most people never see.

    More Than a Month on the Calendar

    I’m glad we set aside a month to celebrate dairy and the farmers who make it possible. But when the banners come down and the sales end, the work goes on.

    My hope is that June can be more than a marketing campaign—that it can be a yearly reminder to look past the milk carton and into the lives of the people behind it, to ask better questions, listen a little longer, and remember that “supporting farmers” is about more than buying another gallon.

    Feature Photo by Screenroad on Unsplash

    If you’re a farmer (dairy or otherwise), what do you wish people understood about June on your farm?

    If this resonated with you, would you pass it along to someone who cares about farmers—or share it where other farm families might see it? I’d also love to hear from you in the comments: what’s one small way you’ve seen someone truly honor a farmer, or one thing you wish people understood about June on your farm?

    Read Next: Farmer Mental Health: The Hidden Toll of Bigger Farms and Bigger Debt

  • Farmer Mental Health: The Hidden Toll of Bigger Farms and Bigger Debt

    Farmer Mental Health: The Hidden Toll of Bigger Farms and Bigger Debt

    Hay season means long days, heavy decisions, and worries that don’t clock out when the sun gets low.

    When most people picture a farmer, they imagine strong hands, early mornings, and a deep connection to the land. Those things are true. But what’s less visible is the mental and emotional weight that modern farmers carry—often in silence.

    Over the last 40 years, farming has changed dramatically. We’ve seen consolidated farms, bigger machinery, larger herds, and new technology. Alongside those changes came something else: bigger debt, more uncertainty, and worries that don’t clock out when the day is done.

    This piece isn’t about statistics. It’s about naming some of the pressures farmers feel, and why mental health deserves to be part of the conversation when we talk about agriculture.

    From Many Small Farms to Fewer, Bigger Ones

    A generation or two ago, it was common to see many small and mid-sized family farms clustered within a few miles of each other. They could lean on each other for basic help. My dad and a good farmer friend lived two miles apart and shared haymaking equipment and labor. We would spend a day baling hay at the friend’s place, and another day baling hay on our farm.

    On a good day with lots of help, we could bale and put away 2,000–3,000 small square bales—enough to fill a hay mow from the floor to the rafters and keep a dairy herd fed for months. All the while, we had good conversations, got a solid workout, and ate a good meal afterward. There was a sense of satisfaction I didn’t fully appreciate at the time as I coughed up dust all night and well into the next day. We could rely on each other for reciprocal help that taught me what true community support looks like.

    Over the past few decades:

    • Many small operations have closed or merged.
    • Land has consolidated into fewer, larger farms.
    • Surviving farms often feel pressure to “get bigger or get out.”

    This shift means:

    • Less shared workload between neighbors.
    • More land, animals, and responsibilities on fewer shoulders.
    • A sense of loss—not just of businesses, but of communities and a way of life.

    My dad and his friend both sold their cows around the same time. I remember the farm auction they jointly held when I was an early teenager. At the time, I was thrilled that we didn’t have the cows anymore. In adulthood, that relief turned into sadness, because it meant there were two fewer dairy farms in the area. Now, the farms with 100 or fewer cows are few and far between. My dad used to joke that FFA—“Future Farmers of America”—really stood for “Father Farming Alone.” He wasn’t wrong.

    For the farmers who remain, this consolidation can bring a mix of gratitude (for still being here) and grief (for those who aren’t).

    “Land Rich,” Cash Poor

    Another layer in all of this is what people sometimes call being “land rich.”

    Many farmers:

    • Own or are paying on hundreds of acres of land.
    • Have barns, sheds, and equipment worth significant money on paper.

    From the outside, it can look like wealth. But the reality is often:

    • Most of that value is tied up in land and buildings that can’t be easily sold without dismantling the farm.
    • Day-to-day cash flow can be tight, especially when prices are low or inputs are high.
    • The same land that represents security also represents responsibility, taxes, and debt.

    Being “land rich and cash poor” is its own kind of mental strain. Farmers can feel:

    • Trapped between the desire to keep the farm going and the weight of the bills.
    • Guilty for even considering selling something that generations built.
    • Misunderstood by people who only see acreage and assume comfort, not stress.

    When the balance sheet says “asset,” but the checking account says “barely,” it adds another quiet layer of pressure.

    Bigger Equipment, Bigger Debt

    With larger farms comes larger equipment:

    • Bigger tractors, combines, balers, and harvesters.
    • More sophisticated technology—GPS, monitors, sensors, and software.

    These tools can boost efficiency, but they come at a cost:

    • High purchase prices, ongoing payments, and subscription fees.
    • Expensive parts and repairs when something breaks (usually at the worst possible time).
    • The constant knowledge that a breakdown—or a bad year—could put the whole operation at risk.

    Carrying that level of debt isn’t just a line item in a budget. It’s a weight in the back of a farmer’s mind, especially at night. Farming has always been stressful, but when you add costs that are ten or a hundred times higher than they used to be, the stress compounds right along with it.

    Mutating Diseases, New Pests, and Biosecurity Worries

    The last few decades have also brought:

    • New or mutating livestock diseases.
    • Crop diseases and pests that adapt quickly.
    • Rising biosecurity concerns, especially with larger, more concentrated herds.

    This adds another layer of stress:

    • One outbreak can threaten years of hard work.
    • Farmers must constantly update protocols, vaccinations, and preventative care.
    • There’s a nagging worry: “What if something slips through? What if we miss something?”

    The responsibility of caring for animals and crops isn’t just physical; it’s emotional. When animals get sick or crops fail, it can feel like a personal failure—even when it isn’t.

    I recently heard the sad story of a local strawberry farm that lost much of its crop to a disease that thrives in wet soil after a particularly rainy spring. I’ve also watched them rebound in a way that is truly inspiring—launching a strawberry-scented skincare line made from the berries they could salvage and using their platform to educate the public about soil health. Even in resilience, you can feel the weight of what was lost and the effort it took for them to pivot.

    Markets That Feel Like a Roller Coaster

    Farmers today live with:

    • Fluctuating commodity prices.
    • Sudden changes in demand, trade policies, and global events.
    • Input costs (fuel, fertilizer, feed, repairs) that don’t always match what they’re paid.

    That means:

    • It’s harder to plan even one year ahead, let alone several.
    • A good production year doesn’t always mean a good financial year.
    • Farmers carry the constant question: “Will this be the year we can’t make it work?”

    Uncertainty isn’t just a math problem. It’s a mental burden—especially when an entire family’s livelihood, legacy, and identity are tied to the farm.

    More Worries, Less Margin for Error

    Put all of that together, and you get a heavy load:

    • Bigger farms and fewer people to share the work.
    • Bigger machines and bigger debts.
    • Disease, pests, and biosecurity concerns that never truly go away.
    • Markets that can swing wildly from one season to the next.
    • Land that looks like wealth on paper, but doesn’t always translate into financial breathing room.

    And yet, despite all this, many farmers still:

    • Get up before sunrise.
    • Work long days in all kinds of weather.
    • Care deeply about their animals, crops, and customers.
    • Try to show up at community events and be good neighbors.

    They do it not because it’s an easy business decision, but because farming is a calling—a way of life they care about too deeply to walk away from lightly.

    From the outside, it’s easy to see just the toughness. From the inside, farmers know: toughness doesn’t make you immune to stress, anxiety, or depression. It just makes you more likely to keep quiet about it.

    The Quiet Strain on Farmer Mental Health

    Some common mental health pressures on farmers include:

    • Chronic stress. There is always something to worry about—weather, prices, animals, equipment, finances.
    • Isolation. Many farms are rural and remote, with fewer opportunities to socialize or talk openly about struggles. The isolation has only increased as farms have consolidated and neighbors have sold out.
    • Identity and legacy. The farm often isn’t “just a job.” It’s a family identity and a multi-generation story. The fear of being “the one who couldn’t keep it going” runs deep.
    • Stigma. In many farm communities, there’s an unspoken rule: you work hard, keep your head down, and don’t complain. Asking for help can feel like weakness, even when it’s actually courage.

    It’s not unusual for farmers to feel:

    • Overwhelmed
    • Guilty for feeling overwhelmed
    • Unsure where to turn or what resources exist

    Naming these realities doesn’t mean farmers are broken. It means they’re human.

    What Farmers Need to Hear

    If you’re a farmer, or married to one, or raising farm kids, you may need to hear that:

    • Feeling stressed or anxious doesn’t mean you’re failing.
    • Being exhausted by the weight of decisions and responsibilities is understandable.
    • You are not the only one who lies awake at night worrying about the bank, the herd, the crops, the land, the next generation.
    • Talking to someone—a friend, pastor, counselor, doctor—is not a sign of weakness. It’s one more way of caring for your farm and family, because you are part of both.

    What the Rest of Us Can Do

    For those who aren’t farming but care about farmers, there are small but meaningful ways to help:

    • Acknowledge the weight. Simply saying, “I know things are tough right now, and I appreciate what you do,” can matter more than you realize.
    • Listen without minimizing. Resist the urge to say “It’ll all work out” or “At least you get to live in the country.” Instead try: “That sounds really hard. Do you want to talk about it?”
    • Support local when you can. Buying from local farms and small businesses helps, even if it’s not a complete solution.
    • Share resources. If you hear about mental health hotlines, local support groups, or farm stress programs, pass them along without pressure: “I saw this and thought it might be useful if you ever wanted it.”
    • Check in after hard news. A bad storm, a price crash, a big equipment breakdown—these are good times to send a message or stop by.

    A Small Invitation

    Over the past 40 years, farms have gotten bigger, equipment has gotten bigger, and the to-do lists and worries have grown right alongside them. What hasn’t grown at the same pace is our willingness to talk honestly about what all of that does to a farmer’s mind and heart.

    For many farmers, this work is more than a career. It’s a calling they’ve been born into, chosen, or both—and that’s part of why the weight can feel so heavy.

    I don’t pretend to speak for every farmer or every situation, but these are some of the patterns I’ve seen and lived.

    We can’t solve everything in one conversation or one blog post. But we can:

    • Start naming the pressures.
    • Make it normal to talk about stress and mental health in farm communities.
    • Remind farmers that their worth is not measured only in bushels, pounds, acres, or how many acres they “own” on paper.

    If you’re a farmer, or you love one, I hope this gives you language for some of what you’re feeling—or seeing.

    And if you’re reading this from town or city, maybe the next time you pass a tractor on the road, pour a glass of milk, have a steak, or drive by a field, you’ll remember: behind that scene is a person carrying more than just a workload.

    Feature Photo by John-Mark Strange on Unsplash

    If you feel comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear: what’s one thing you wish people understood about the mental load farmers carry—or one small way you think we could better support them?

    If this post helped put words to what you’ve seen or felt, would you share it with someone who cares about farmers—or save it to revisit later? Your stories matter too. I’d be honored if you shared a small piece of your experience or tagged a farmer who deserves a quiet “thank you.”

    Read Next: Buying Meat from a Farmer: A Complete Guide to Bulk Meat, Freezers, and Butchers