When the Season Isn’t Going to Plan

By Lesley Kelly, farmer and co-founder of The Do More Agriculture Foundation

There’s a point in almost every season when you realize the year you planned for isn’t necessarily the year you’re going to get.

Sometimes it happens gradually. The weather doesn’t cooperate. Prices soften. Disease shows up. Equipment breaks down. Labour is hard to find. Markets shift. The plan you’ve been working toward all year slowly starts looking different than the one you imagined.

Other times, it happens all at once.

I’ve experienced both.

One season in particular has stayed with me over the years. It was early October, and we still had thousands of acres left to harvest when winter showed up weeks earlier than expected. I remember sitting around our kitchen table with my family, coffee in hand, refreshing the weather forecast and hoping it would somehow change. Outside, there were canola swaths covered in snow and standing wheat that should have already been in the bin.

As someone who loves baseball, I remember thinking it felt like Mother Nature kept throwing us sliders and curveballs. Suddenly, every plan we had made had to change. Instead of talking about the harvest we thought we were going to have, we found ourselves talking about the next step. If it warmed up, which fields would we tackle first? Which crops needed to come off? Where would we put tough grain? There wasn't one big decision that was going to save the harvest. There were simply a lot of small decisions that had to be made, one after another.

I also remember something my dad always reminded us during seasons like that: Don't swing for the fences because you'll probably strike out. Take the single. Steal a base when you can.

At the time, he was talking about farming. Looking back, I think he was talking about life, too.

We don't always need one big solution. Sometimes what gets us through a difficult season is simply making the next decision, celebrating the small wins and taking things one day at a time.

Looking back, what I remember most wasn’t actually the snow. It's the conversations around that kitchen table. We didn't pretend the situation wasn't disappointing and we didn't spend all our energy wishing things were different. We talked through the options in front of us, made the best decisions we could with the information we had and tried to keep moving forward together.

That experience taught me something I still come back to whenever a season doesn't go according to plan. Farmers are remarkably good at adapting. We find a way to adjust to what each year and each season asks of us. Yet even the most resilient people have seasons that weigh on them. Those two things can exist at the same time.

Every season tells a different story

One of the things I've been reminded of this summer is that no two farms experience the same season, even if they are only a few miles from each other.

Some are dealing with weather. Others are navigating market uncertainty, rising costs, labour shortages, equipment issues or animal health challenges. Some are celebrating a year that's gone better than expected, while others are wondering how they're going to adjust their plans.

Then there are the people whose season looks perfectly fine from the outside, yet they're simply tired.

Over the past few weeks, I've had conversations with farmers whose experiences couldn't have been more different. One was disappointed with how the season had unfolded. Another felt good about the year overall, yet admitted they were exhausted. One conversation has stayed with me. Someone told me the thing they appreciated most wasn't advice or someone trying to solve the problem. It was a neighbour who stopped in for coffee because they hadn't seen them around for a while.

It was such a simple gesture, yet it reminded me that sometimes the smallest acts of kindness are the ones we remember the longest.

Agriculture may look different from one farm, ranch or operation to the next, yet one thing stays the same: every season asks something of the people behind it. We rarely know the full story someone else is carrying.

One more question

One of the things I love about agriculture is how naturally conversation happens.

It happens when you meet another farmer driving down the grid road, windows rolled down. At the local coffee shop. In the rink. At a bull sale. In the parts aisle at your local dealership.

We talk about the work because that's what connects us. We compare rainfall, yields, markets, calving, harvest progress or the latest equipment breakdown. Whatever sector we're in, there's always something to talk about.

Yet I wonder what would happen if we simply added one more question.

How are you doing, really?

Not how the season is going.How are you doing?

Over the last decade, I've learned that meaningful conversations about mental health rarely begin because someone has exactly the right words. They begin because someone cared enough to ask.

Sometimes that question turns into a five-minute conversation. Sometimes it turns into an hour over coffee. Either way, it tells someone they're not carrying the season by themselves.

You don't have to have the answers

One thing I hear often is, "I wouldn't know what to say if someone told me they were having a hard time."

I understand that. Agriculture is full of people who solve problems. When something breaks, we fix it. When a plan changes, we adjust. When a challenge shows up, we get to work. It's only natural that our first instinct is to fix people too. Yet some of the conversations that have stayed with me the longest weren't the ones where someone had all the answers. They were the ones where someone simply listened.

A simple, "That sounds really hard," or "Tell me more," often means far more than trying to find the perfect response.

Sometimes people don't need us to solve the problem.

They just need to know someone is willing to sit beside them while they work through it.

Keep showing up

If there's one thing difficult seasons have taught me, it's that support rarely comes from one big moment. More often, it comes from a lot of small ones.

A neighbour stopping by.

A friend sending a text.

Someone remembering to ask again next week.

An honest conversation around the kitchen table.

Those moments don't change the weather and they don't change the markets. Yet they can change how we experience the season. They remind us that someone noticed, someone cared and someone chose to show up.

As harvest approaches and as many others across agriculture move into their own busy seasons, I hope we continue talking about the work. I also hope we become just as comfortable asking about the people doing it.

If someone comes to mind while you're reading this, please reach out. Invite them for coffee or a ride in the combine. Send the text. Ask how the season is going and then ask how they're doing.

Going back to the year the snow came early, we eventually finished that harvest. Maybe not the way we drew it up in the spring, yet we finished it. Like most difficult seasons, time moved on, another spring came and we started planning all over again.

We don't get to choose every pitch that's thrown our way. Yet, we do get to choose how we show up for one another while we're waiting for the next one.

Sometimes that's the most important thing we grow.

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