They say that any two people are six or fewer social connections away from each other. In agriculture, I’d swear it’s two. The following are some examples I've experienced of how small the world can be.
License plates and family ties
He was the agriculture attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Manila, Philippines. We are talking about increasing U.S. agriculture exports into the country. He laughs and says, “Well, I am from the state with the third-most dairy production.” My ears perk up. I hadn’t said anything before then, but I couldn’t let this pass. “I am from Idaho, too,” I piped up. He asked, “4C, what about you?"
“1P,” I say, “But both of my parents grew up in 4C.” We are referencing the county nomenclature the Idaho government uses for license plates. It turns out he graduated high school with my aunt. His family had farmed next to my great-uncle.
A Panhandle link
Craig had just presented to a group of cattle ranchers in rural Texas. He had sold his private veterinary practice a few months before and was working for a pharmaceutical company. His new job was taking him all over the country, and it was his first time in the Texas Panhandle. He’d offered to answer questions after the presentation. The first person in line was a woman who looked vaguely familiar. Her question was unrelated to trace minerals in beef cattle. She asked, “Are you Erica Ramsey’s husband?” She had graduated from college the year after me, and we’d trailed each other through our animal science classes.
From tractors to minks
Craig posted the tractor on the Facebook marketplace. It needed a new clutch, and we decided at 30 years old that it wasn’t worth the cost the New Holland dealership was quoting. It would be to someone with the know-how and the right shop. Within 15 minutes of posting, he had a message from a custom farmer near Seattle. He said he’d pick it up at 6:30 that evening if Craig would hold it until then. Turns out, it was just enough time to stop at the bank and drive straight through. When he got here, he asked Craig how he knew “so and so,” a mink farmer in the Utah town where Craig was raised.
On the road
I ordered an Uber to pick me and a couple of colleagues up in Alexandria, Virginia, and take us to the airport. “For Erica?” I asked. Once confirmed, I crawled into the back seat. My colleagues and I talked briefly about our work over the following weeks. The driver asked, “Do you guys work in agriculture?” We said we did. He said he had previously been a dairy farmer in Washington state. They sold their farm during the pandemic, and his spouse got a job as an economist for the American Farm Bureau. Their closest neighbor back home had been my husband’s vet school roommate, another dairy farmer.
