Farm transitions. Family Transitions.
Farm transitions are hard. There's no way around it. And they teach us so much about letting go and holding onto what truly matters.
Transitions. A topic no one really likes to talk about. In any context, really. As a four season farmer, I don’t particularly enjoy the seasonal ones, where I’m either too anxious about an impending freeze in the fall, or fretting away that the spring thaw can’t come fast enough. The way transitions are typically approached, whether on farms or in relationships or during career changes or in life in general, is quick and dirty so that everyone can get to that other more desirable side as fast as possible. It’s completely understandable - being in limbo is stressful and any period of change or uncertainty is very uncomfortable, even if that change is necessary and it leads to a better place. But no one can easily protect themselves from the inevitable discomfort that exists during a period of change. I know I certainly can’t. However, without taking the time to move through these awkward liminal spaces - to pause, to reflect, to question, to evaluate, to envision a better future - I think we risk missing out on the beauty of that growth and what it can teach us about ourselves and others.
Farm transitions take on a whole new level of challenge and uncertainty because there are so many complex parts involved, and the transition process sometimes happens abruptly due to unexpected life changes such as a death or a divorce. The most important part, in my opinion, are the people - typically generational family members, but also unrelated and interested parties. The people part alone contains enough interpersonal dynamics, emotional reactivity, and competing needs to make your head spin. Then you have the land - which may have been passed down for generations in more recent history, but if we’re being honest, was originally stolen, and any land steward will need to find their own reconciliation with the heavy weight of that fact. Then, add to the land the houses and the infrastructure - and very suddenly the boundaries between home and work become hazy and tangled. And finally, there is the farm business - which is generally so tied up with the land, the infrastructure, and the generation that owns the land, that it becomes highly difficult to separate the two in order to determine a fair means of transfer. A farm transition is really just a generational family transition, but with the added blurred boundaries of land, infrastructure, and business components, that inevitably only increases competing priorities and conflict between individuals. Is it any wonder why most people want to avoid this?
When I interview farmers, I always ask the question, “How will you grow old farming?” It is certainly a good, hard question to answer. So few of us enter into farming with a clear vision of 50 years into the future. How can we possibly know what our bodies, minds, and hearts will feel like then, let alone be able to define and craft what a transfer process, either to family or other interested parties, should look like. But if we are not asking these hard questions at the beginning and continuing to ask them along the way, they are not going to get any easier to answer or plan for down the road. Especially on a family farm.
My own recent experience with a family farm transition was complicated, and continues to be an ongoing process since the land remains in the family. I am not ready to share more of the specifics yet, other than to say that I wish we had been more intentional and started having these conversations as a family much sooner than we did, and I wish someone had told me that the most difficult AND the most important part of the process would not be the actual details of the business transfer or a lease agreement or the plan for the land, but the transparency and the health of the relationships that hold a family together. That, is what I am holding onto and what truly matters to me.