As the 2024 harvest wraps up and hunters begin to arrive, I’m reminded of the pivotal role we play in each other’s lives. I own and operate a small farm nestled in the rolling hills of Central Iowa, along the Iowa River. My farm is a modest mix of cattle, hogs, corn, soybeans, and alfalfa, and with the help of LandTrust—a Montana-based company that connects hunters with landowners—we also run a small hunting lodge.
At first, I was reluctant to open my land to hunters. But over time, I realized the vital relationship between hunters and farmers. It came down to perspective. We’re connected by a shared bond, and in today’s world, we face many of the same challenges.
There is an active and well-funded campaign against meat and protein. The target isn’t just livestock farmers but also the hunting industry. Running the lodge has given me a chance to sit down with my guests, sharing stories over a glass of whiskey, and learning that we’re all in this together. It isn’t just pork and beef that are in the crosshairs; it’s the entire rural way of life.
You might be asking who the enemy is. To put it simply, this is a battle of good versus evil. As a cattleman and a farmer, there are people who hate everything about me. I drive a truck, chew tobacco, drink beer, keep a gun in my truck, go to church, and work hard. These aren’t negative traits—in fact, they’re the same traits that define the hunters who visit my land.
Our shared way of life has made us a target, and my livestock just happens to be an easier, more polarizing mark. Farmers, ranchers, and hunters need to bridge the gap between us and recognize that we’re fighting the same fight.
There’s no denying that farmers haven’t always been perfect stewards of the land. We’ve often prioritized money over habitat, simply to keep generational farms afloat. But that was yesterday. Tomorrow’s a new day, and we’re all going to need to make concessions if we want to preserve our shared heritage.
I’ve caught plenty of grief online for running a pay-to-play lodge, but I don’t apologize for it. When you pay me to hunt on my land, I can show you the food plots and sections I’ve pulled out of production to give back to nature. That’s the difference between private and public land: accountability. I can show you exactly where your dollar is going.
In today’s world, it’s easy to criticize behind a screen. But if we don’t bridge this gap now, our way of life will fade away, much like that young hunting buddy you took out years ago who’s now grown and gone. We’re at risk of losing something much larger if we don’t start seeing our common ground.
In some states, like Colorado, California, Oregon, Idaho, and Washington, ranchers and hunters are seeing less ground for grazing and hunting. The pressures we face are growing stronger, and even though this is a controversial topic, it’s a conversation that needs to be had.
So, if you find yourself in a small-town cafe and spot an old rancher having his morning coffee, pull up a chair and ask about his struggles. You may find that his story isn’t so different from yours. We’re all fighting the same battle—for our land, for our traditions, and for the future of the rural way of life.