Why the word “farmer” doesn’t tell you much

Have you ever realized that the word “farmer” tells you surprisingly little about what the person actually does? Think about it. If you were introduced to someone and they told you they were a dentist, you’d have a pretty good idea what they do all day. If you were introduced to a farmer, the questions would probably start immediately because the options are endless. What kind of farm is it? Crops, fish, or heck, even wind energy?

Two people can both introduce themselves as farmers and have almost nothing in common except the word.

What is a farm, really?

The word “farm” is even trickier. Ask people to picture a farm, and they’ll all see something different:

• An old barn and chickens on a family farm

• A tractor pulling machinery across a field of row crops

• A green pasture dotted with beef cows, like the ones their grandparents raised

• A shrimp farm, a bucking stock farm, a data farm, or a fun farm

• Heck, maybe they see the “farm” subdivision that’s now named after the orchard that just got bulldozed.

So if the word “farm” tells us so little about what happens there, why is the word used so deliberately to give us confidence in the food we buy?

How the word “farm” became a sales pitch

Here's how I think it happened. At some point, the word “farm” stopped simply describing a place and started suggesting that whatever's in the package was raised somewhere green, by someone decent, in a way you'd feel good about if you saw it. 

And when a word carries that much influence, somebody is going to figure out how to sell it.

The barn on the egg carton, the green pasture on the milk jug, the words “farm fresh” splashed across the package. None of those things tell you much about the farm or the farmer. They just feel like they do. We put an incredible amount of trust into a word that tells us almost nothing.

What’s behind the job title?

Knowing someone is a farmer doesn't tell you what they raise, how they raise it, or what they use on their land. It doesn’t tell you how they treat the soil or a sick animal, what shortcuts they’d be willing to take, or which ones they’d refuse to take.

Those are the things people actually want to know about the person producing their food. But the average person doesn't have the time to become a food investigator every time they buy a dozen eggs. They shouldn't have to. It should be easier to get good food from someone they trust.

It’s not the word, it’s the relationship

So maybe knowing someone is a farmer isn't enough. Maybe it's knowing your farmer.

Knowing your farmer means having a real relationship with the person producing your food and being able to shake their hand, understand their values, see them working, and visit the farm.

Because the relationship fills in everything the word “farmer” leaves out. 

You don’t trust them because they’re a farmer. You trust them because you know them.