Antique shops are buzzing, vinyl records are spinning again, and fashion? Well, let’s just say some of my favorite closet pieces are passed down – and they’ve gotten more compliments than anything new. I’ve been called “old-fashioned” more than once, and honestly, I take it as a compliment. There’s a quiet pride in holding onto something meaningful – whether it’s the well-worn flannel or the values stitched into it.

I feel that same kind of pride about my agricultural lifestyle. But sometimes, it’s hard not to feel like the odd one out. While I find joy in the old ways – the traditions, the skills, the stories – many of my peers seem eager to move on to bigger and better things. Maybe they don’t see the value in staying, or maybe no one ever took the time to show them what’s worth keeping, or maybe, and more likely, it’s just not feasible for them in that stage of life.

That’s what’s really been on my mind. Our grandparents and mentors carry a lifetime of knowledge but passing it on takes more than just being around – it takes intention. But in today’s busy world, we’re all moving so fast, we’re losing those natural teaching moments. And truthfully, we can’t blame just one side. If we want the next generation to care, we also must be willing to make room for them, to hand them a post driver and not just a lecture.

We constantly hear that the average age of the farmer is climbing. In fact, the concept was a major part of my master’s thesis. I recently read an article, "Quiet Crisis, Unfolding Rapidly: Big Questions Remain For Next Gen Farmers." It hit home. Many young and beginning farmers either don’t want to – or genuinely can’t – step into the boots their predecessors are leaving behind. And while we invest a lot into youth ag programs (which absolutely make a difference), there’s a gap once folks age out of 4-H or FFA but still aren’t yet landowners or legacy holders. That “middle space” – the 20s, 30s, and even 40s – is where the real make-or-break moments happen. It’s when people are trying to find stability, maybe raise a family, lease their first pasture, or buy used equipment. But this age group often gets forgotten when it comes to support systems and resources.

It’s a tough time to start out. High input costs, limited land access, and labor shortages are only part of it. There’s also the challenge of belonging. I personally don’t want to feel like I’m just carrying forward someone else’s dream but also building one of my own. I think not being able to balance that is why so many young farmers either give up or never start at all.

For me, and my fellow old souls, the real heart of the challenge is this: how do we bridge the grit and wisdom of generations past with the urgency and complexity of today? We have the technology. We have the passion. How do we keep the soul in it?

I’m not sure there’s a real answer to how we mitigate this. What I do know, our future can’t just rest on tools or tradition alone. It takes both. And it’s going to take intentional effort – from mentors to make room at the table, and from us middle-grounders to keep showing up, asking questions, and learning where we can. Because if we’re lucky, one day we’ll be the ones passing something down and we’ll need someone ready to listen.

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Samantha Stamm is the 2025 Hoard’s Dairyman editorial intern. She co-owns and manages an Angus seedstock and commercial cow-calf operation with her family in northeast Kentucky. Stamm earned a master's degree in agricultural communications from Oklahoma State University and a bachelor's degree in agribusiness with a dual major in animal science from Morehead State University.