This is a tale of two trailer loads. We headquarter in northeastern Colorado, but we haul cow calf pairs to spend their summers just over the state line near a small town in Wyoming. We also haul a handful of fall calving cows to Douglas County, near where I grew up. They spend their summers there until we bring them home to calve in September.

When we haul pairs to Wyoming, we hire two semis that are owned and operated locally. They typically drop a load of fat cattle, cattle that are ready for slaughter, at the plant in nearby Fort Morgan in the wee hours of the morning, wash out their trailers at the locally owned truck wash, and come to our house to load. The two trucks head north with one of our rigs behind it with four-wheelers, calves or both.

Once the cattle are in Wyoming, they’re eased off the trucks, find their calves, and head toward the green grass like a hungry man sitting before a Christmas ham. We make sure the calves and cows all find one another and find the water tank, salt and mineral tubs. While there, we buy diesel, oftentimes a hotel room, and dinner all from small businesses who appreciate a few extra pickups in their parking lot.

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We return regularly to that small town to check cows, grab lunch and buy diesel. People typically speak to us and ask the obligatory questions about recent rainfall and haying progress that mark the summer months.

When we haul bred cows to Douglas County, we take one trailer load because the pastures we have there are quite small and surrounded by more houses each time we go down. We use the toll road before reaching our exit in Parker. We ease down Parker Road because there are so many cars, and they allow us so little room to stop if we need to. A loaded trailer is heavy, and it takes more room to stop than your average Subaru. We also don’t want to throw the bred cows around the trailer and risk injury to any of them. People stare at us, glare at us and never seem to wave. We don’t typically fuel up there because it’s difficult to fit into busy and tight spaces when everyone around us seems to be in a hurry. We rarely eat lunch down there for the same reason, though we did eat at a place with a large parking lot on the last trip.

My soon-to-be kindergartener was wearing his straw cowboy hat and his boots, just like he does every day. It surprised me how many adults pointed at him or said something weird like, “Hey, Tex… where’s your horse?” He’s five and certainly not wearing a cowboy hat for any other reason than because he’s a cowboy.

When we were ready to leave, there was a table of biker guys, one of them wearing a Vietnam veteran hat. My son tipped his hat to the veteran and said hello. The man reached out to shake his hand, which he did, and they talked for a few minutes about where we were hauling cows and if there would be ice cream en route home. We wished him a good weekend and he told us we were raising our kids right. 

As much as I despise the frequent talk about the rural and urban divide in Colorado and many other states, I suppose it is real. It’s existence, though, doesn’t equate to one place or another being superior as they both contribute to the state’s economy and other markers of success. The agriculture industry does a disservice to itself by touting “thank a farmer” sentiments. Though there’s no doubt the importance of the industry, which here in Colorado is the second largest and contributes $47 billion annually, bludgeoning people into gratitude isn’t constructive. The agriculture industry reaching out in an effort “to educate” people removed from production agriculture, which is about 98% of the nation, is off-putting.

Production agriculture exists because there is consumer demand. Consumers’ demands are met because the efficient agriculture industry thrives in this country. We’re like peas and carrots. Assuming that consumers don’t know anything about agriculture is as big a stereotype as the dumb farmer assumption, and you know what they say about assuming. Agriculture gets it wrong, though, in insisting that consumers need an education. Many consumers benefit from a closer look at the issues facing production agriculture and can more wisely cast their votes to protect the economics of the state if they’re more familiar with the issues. Consumers can make more informed decisions at the grocery store if they’re able to sort through the ridiculous labels and the emotion-driven marketing. That said, agriculture producers can be responsive to consumer preferences by finding their niche and meeting the wants and needs of the consumers in that space. Urban and rural are two strikingly different places, but when it’s all said and done, we need one another and would benefit from a quick visit about cows and ice cream.

Rachel Gabel writes about agriculture and rural issues. She is assistant editor of The Fence Post Magazine, the region’s preeminent agriculture publication. Gabel is a daughter of the state’s oil and gas industry and a member of one of the state’s 12,000 cattle-raising families, and she has authored children’s books used in hundreds of classrooms to teach students about agriculture.