Looking Up

Cattle and wheat prices are dismal right now.

A study compared wheat prices in today’s dollars during the depression to prices now.

In the 1920’s, farmers were paid about $30 a bushel. The market plummeted to about $10 per bushel just in time for the Dust Bowl. Many farmers declared bankruptcy and became fodder for John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath.

Right now, farmers receive about $5 a bushel.

Cattle producers face the same economic squeeze.

In 1953, the average price for steers and heifers was $1.82 per pound in today’s dollar. I didn’t pick the top of the market when I quoted prices in 1953. That is the earliest data from the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

Fed steers sold for $1.14 per pound last week. The 68 cent difference means cattle producers sell steers for roughly $700 less than in 1953.

Concentration among packers combined with policies that permit a lack of transparency mean a whispered conversation at a bar over a drink could easily establish nationwide cattle prices for a year.  

Bankruptcies among farmers and ranchers increased 12% across the U.S. this year.

In our region – Montana, Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Wyoming – bankruptcies are up 50%, according to the American Farm Bureau Federation.

Filing for bankruptcy is hard enough for a normal business, but in agriculture, often financial difficulty is compounded by heritage.

Often, a farm or ranch has been passed down from generation to generation so the sense of failure becomes personal. It rests on this generation’s shoulders.

Suicides are on the rise among farmers and ranchers, too, up 34% from 2000 to 2016, according to the Centers for Disease Control.

All of this was on my mind the other day as I hooked chains between the tractor and the pickup and horse trailer.

It all started with a simple premise: Haul seven cows to the auction.

I had done this many times before. My biggest worry was returning to the ranch before dark so I could bring the sheep to their nighttime corral.

The cows were waiting for me in the corral on the hill, out of most of the muck and snow.

I hooked the horse trailer up, shifted into four wheel-drive and pulled to the loading chute.

Only, I couldn’t back anywhere near the loading chute.

Wet, greasy ground kept me at least 20 feet away.

I gave it another try, gunning the truck at the steep uphill angle to push the trailer closer.

The trailer slid sideways.

Two more tries just tore up the grass, my only source of traction.

No worries.

I created a gate in another corner, where I could back the trailer in and load the cows.

The cows argued with me about this new setup. They were bigger than I and this was out of their routine.

It took a while, but eventually, I slammed the trailer gate.

I called it a win.

The pickup would not pull the trailer loaded with cows. The wheels spun, the trailer slid and I was stuck on a slight incline.

No worries.

I got the tractor and chain.

The tractor straightened the truck easily.

I jumped in the truck and gunned it to the crest of the hill, then spun out and had to back down to a relatively flat spot.

By the ninth time I pulled the pickup with the tractor, the combination of sticky, cold mud and dismal ranch economics had me scratching my head.

That was a bad idea.

I am still digging dirt out of my hair.

My daughter, Abby, came home from school and jumped into the truck. I pulled with the tractor to the top of the hill. We were home free.

Almost.

We only needed to ease down the coulee, past the barn to the driveway.

The coulee was slick.

I stepped into the driver’s seat.

I clearly remember my next few words:

“The trailer is coming around.”

“Watch out. It’s going to hit!”

“Oh!”

“Are you okay?”

Abby clearly remembers hearing additional phrases come out of my mouth and she insists I pay the Cuss Jar.

We are still picking glass out of the back seat.

The plastic sheet taped with shiny duct tape and the wrinkles in the rear corner of the truck look trashy.

But I got the cows to the sale.

Then I went to a meeting.

Not just any old meeting, but one filled with progressive, creative people who want to solve problems together.

During that meeting, I looked up and out instead of down and in.

We talked about picking cattle prices up off the barstool and that every living organism, from soil microbes to humans, needs a quorum to create change. Together, we discussed solutions for the challenges we all face.

We laughed at the wrinkles in our trucks and knew we would do it all again tomorrow.

Filling my day with people felt better than shampooing the mud out of my hair.