OMAHA (DTN) -- Late one spring evening, as I accompanied my younger brother as he prepared to seed his crop, I thought about how complicated farming had become since that land was first broken on the prairies by our grandfather and his neighbors in the early 20th century.

Farming involves more decisions than ever. The decisions range from what crop rotations to do, to what inputs my brother needs and when to purchase them, to what equipment will be most efficient but also affordable. Our farm equipment has come a long way from my grandfather's small, simple and completely rusted equipment tucked forgotten in the bush for decades.

Above all, my brother must keep an eye on weather. The area averages 12 inches of precipitation a year; too often in recent years the crops struggled to get timely, beneficial moisture. Of course, there also is the annual threat of weeds, insects and diseases that need to be monitored and countered.

My brother has a cow-calf herd, leading to another set of decisions to make each year.

Then there's the tough financial and marketing decisions of farming. Even if he raises the healthiest cattle on pasture and coaxes the best crop out of the soil, my brother -- like other farmers -- needs to decide what, when and how much to sell.

Long gone are the days of just driving a small truckload of grains, pulses or oilseeds to the nearest elevators and ship the produce off by rail to markets. The railroad that once ran near our farmyard has been gone for many years, as are almost all the small wooden elevators that once rose above the dusty prairie towns scattered in every direction from our farm.

One of them, a former Saskatchewan Wheat Pool elevator built in 1928 in Keatley, Saskatchewan, was acquired by the Western Development Museum in North Battleford. Moved in 1983 to more than 40 miles away, the elevator is now part of the museum's Heritage Farm and Village.

I remember going to Keatley's elevator and others with my father in his old one-ton green truck to drop off a load of grain and chat with the elevator agents and other farmers bringing their grain. I suspect Dad remembered going with his dad by horse and wagon to take loads of grain to those same elevators when he was young.

My grandfather died before I was born. My father took over the farm responsibilities -- providing for his mom and his siblings -- when he was still quite young. Dad worked the land of his father, acquired more land and raised crops and cattle until he was 89. By the time my father passed away, my two brothers now relied on hired semis to pick up the grain from their bins to be delivered to grain terminals located an hour or more away. There, long trains of 100 or more railcars transported grain from prairie to port.

Back in the field, not far from my grandfather's original homestead, I watched my brother work late into the night. The moon slowly sank into the western twilight and coyotes occasionally yipped around us when they weren't drowned out by the sounds of tractor, truck and churning auger.

I thought about the generations of relatives who seeded, harvested, and hayed this land of rolling hills and picked a new crop of stones that persistently emerged after every spring thaw.

I thought about my dad who had died just a few years earlier. And the grandfather I never met. About what the land meant to our generations of family raising food for the world -- or in my case, reporting on it.

There was also deep appreciation for friends, relatives and neighbors who occasionally helped each other at busy times with the haying, harvesting and other fieldwork; my family would help them in return.

In some countries, there is a certain day each year to celebrate and recognize the importance of agriculture in our world, including to acknowledge, respect and consider a career in the agriculture, food and fiber industry.

March 24 marked National Ag Day, with the theme, "Together We Grow." While it's the 53rd anniversary of the celebration, U.S. Ag Secretary Brooke Rollins noted during Tuesday's event in Washington, D.C., "Today, on this National Ag Day, it is even more appropriate to celebrate, as this is America's 250th birthday."

Earlier, on Feb. 10, was Canada's Agriculture Day as people celebrated its 10th anniversary.

In both cases, U.S. and Canadian politicians and other speakers shared their appreciation for the hard work done by generations of farmers and ranchers, of wanting to help them thrive instead of just survive. They encouraged people to applaud their efforts.

Far from Washington or Ottawa, the speeches and applause, farmers and ranchers keep growing their crops, feeding their animals -- and feeding, clothing, and fueling the world.

Something else recently stirred my appreciation for my family's involvement in agriculture for so long.

A few days ago, the Provincial Archives of Saskatchewan had a posting on its Facebook Page. It started with, "Have you heard of the Cummins Map Company?"

It went on to explain how, "Established in 1917, the Cummins Map Company produced what are known as Cummins Rural Directory Maps for Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario, and Prince Edward Island. These maps were important tools for locating people, places, railway lines, and other geographical details. Like other types of directories, the Cummins Rural Directory Maps were updated over time; the Saskatchewan map series includes maps for 1917-18, 1920, 1922, 1926, and 1930."

The maps are now kept as part of the historical maps collection from Spatial and Numeric Data Services (SANDS) at the University of Calgary.

Going to that site, it noted: "This index provides access to Cummins Rural Directory Maps -- also known as homestead maps -- covering parts of the Canadian Prairies between 1918 and 1927. The maps show the names of rural landowners, along with features such as the locations of schools, post offices, siding, villages and towns."

The map the Provincial Archives decided to show in its post was for 1920 -- and the area where both my mom and dad's families had first homesteaded.

I eagerly searched for familiar roads, lakes, small villages and towns. I found the schools my parents each attended and villages that no longer existed except for dancehall memories.

And then I caught my breath: In small, neat handwritten letters, there it was: My grandfather's name on a quarter of land. I could see which was his homestead quarter in 1920; I could also the names of neighbors he had around him.

Almost every quarter had a different family. So many familiar names, so many families who my relatives talked about, or whose kids or grandkids or even great-grandkids I heard about or have met through my lifetime.

I imagined what it must have been like for my grandfather. He had come to the U.S. through Ellis Island in 1907 and worked in a sugar factory and then steel mill in New York for a few years. About six years later, he moved to Canada to farm and became a Canadian citizen a few years after that.

He farmed this land where the rolling great plains meet the boreal forest, where he was surrounded by other immigrants from many different countries or even came from other parts of Canada. There were also people who lived in the area whose tribes originally populated the land.

My father shared with me how he recalled, as a young boy, attending a Christmas event being celebrated in the local one-room school in the 1930s. It was a melting pot of farm families who gathered. The school was so full there was no place to sit for some. Dad said there were so many languages that people could hardly speak to each other, but they still communicated through a lot of smiles and nods.

Yet he added how everyone, no matter their past or current situation, proudly brought food -- whatever their cultural dish -- to share with their neighbors. They also brought their laughter, music and songs -- and more than 80 years later, Dad still remembered fondly being there as his family blended with the others.

At that moment, all these farmers grew to be more than just stamped passports at an immigration office far away, or handwritten names on a homestead map. They became a community.

When I think of what agriculture means to me, every day and not just one, I think of that: generations of families nurturing the land and raising animals to produce food for the world, helping and being proud of what we can accomplish together with our friends and neighbors, but most importantly the sense of community we have created. Together, we will continue to grow.

Elaine Shein can be reached at elaine.shein@dtn.com

Follow her on social platform X @elaineshein

(c) Copyright 2026 DTN, LLC. All rights reserved.