Our conversation has turned a bit philosophical. But only for a moment. For this special issue of Country Guide on farm leadership, Dan Mazier had agreed to talk about his experience as an elected trustee on a local school board as well as his work heading up a local energy co-operative.
They strike me as utterly different, the school board being more social and the energy co-op definitely more farm business in nature, so I’ve just asked the Justice, Man. farmer whether he’s first and foremost a farmer, or a citizen.
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His initial reaction is swift. “A citizen,” he says firmly.
Then he ponders it for a few more seconds.
“Well, both,” he expands.
Clearly he’s not really satisfied with either answer, and his brow knits for a few seconds as he frowns in concentration.
Then you can see him settle on an answer he’s satisfied with, and a broad smile breaks out across his face.
“Why does it have to be two different things? I guess that’s the question. Are they any different?”
The Farm Team
Mazier’s simple message is that everyone, regardless of their background, education and vocation, can have something to offer. And farmers might be surprised to find that they’ve got more to offer than most, he says.
Mazier explains that he doesn’t like to hear people saying they’re “just a farmer” — it’s selling themselves short. None of us are just what we do, he says. We also have another very important job — we’re all citizens in a democracy.
That means we must stay informed, offer direction to our governments and roll up our sleeves and pitch in if we see an opportunity to contribute.
It might seem like a high school civics lesson, but in this age of cynicism it’s refreshing to meet an idealist who can actually get excited about contributing to his local community through something as grassroots as a school board.
More than that, farming is perhaps the very best laboratory for brewing up new leaders. “They see it all,” Mazier says about farmers. “They’ve cleaned out the lagoon, and they’ve sat across from the banker, talking about their multimillion dollar operation.”
There’s also something unique in the nature of farming, Mazier says. Farmers are used to dealing with large and complex problems. They’re used to seeing how issues are related, and they know how to take a systemic approach to things. They know, for example, if their fertility and tillage and weed control don’t all mesh together, they can’t possibly get results they’ll like.
“That’s what’s so neat about being a farmer,” Mazier says. You get the more holistic approach. You’re naturally thinking in terms like, ‘If I do this, what’s going to happen over there?’ I think farmers naturally, whether they know it or not, look at the bigger picture.”
In Ontario, Rob Black agrees that farmers have a lot to bring to any meet-l
A farm or a business?
Dan Mazier knew one thing when he quit his job at the local fertilizer plant to go farming full time — he didn’t want to be running a “typical” dryland grain farm.
Not that there’s anything wrong with those enormous operations that can easily cover 10,000 acres — but he knew it wasn’t for him.
The overhead costs are too high, the risks too great, and too many of the important variables, like what price you received for your product, are entirely outside of your control. That’s why he’s slowly working towards another model — one that borrows a page from the broader business community.
“We build these businesses, then at the end of the day, we sell them for the price of the assets,” Mazier explains.
“But what if we actually treated them like a business? What if you could get bought out for the business, not the value of the assets?”
For a farm, Mazier says he thinks that means developing your own markets, likely on the local level. He’s been slowly moving his operation in that direction, though he concedes “we’re not there yet.”
His 1,000 acres of grainland, which he farms in an equipment partnership with his brother, also has a small beef herd and a small broiler operation that sells to the local market. And this is definitely the direction he sees his farm heading in the future.
“To me that local market just makes sense,” Mazier explains. “Why are we importing so much of our food when we can produce it here?”
By pursuing that market, Mazier calculates he can build a business that will be worth more at the end of the day than the going price of 1,000 acres of land.
“It would be neat as a farmer if, when I retire, I could say, here’s my farm, my land is worth so much an acre, but here’s my business plan, and it’s worth $1 million — and if you won’t take it somebody else will.”
“Any time you vote to give away a piece of democracy, you’re giving away your right to have any local influence at all.”
— Dan Mazier
ing table. Black is the executive director of the Centre for Rural Leadership (CRL), which offers the province’s farmers leadership training through the Advanced Agriculture Leadership Program.
The 19-month part-time program has been running for the past 25 years, and every year the majority of the participants are farmers.
“Our sector brings a lot of energy, and folks who think about the future and have a vision,” Black says. “There’s a real ‘get ’er done’ attitude.”
Farmers also tend to be firmly rooted in one geographic spot, Black adds. That means that in an age of labour mobility and constant motion, farmers are often the most stable mainstays of any smaller community in Canada. Sometimes, they’re the only stability.
“They bring a real sense of community,” Black says. “They know what doors to knock on, and who to talk to. They have a keen sense of who’s in their community.”
Mazier’s public career began via a path beaten by generations of farmers — the province’s general farm organization, the Keystone Agricultural Producers, a group that he joined a decade ago, just after moving back out to the farm to spend more time working on the operation.
At around the same time, he got involved in the Canadian Young Farmers’ Forum, through his KAP activities, and was heavily involved in setting up a young farmers’ committee for the provincial group.
“The Young Farmers Forum is a great organization, and that’s where I all of a sudden realized that it was a lot bigger world out there than I ever thought it was,” Mazier explains.
He soon found himself attending national meetings in Vancouver and Ottawa and pondering the big issues of the day in agriculture.
These days Rob Brunel heads KAP’s Young Farmers Committee, and he’s also a vice-president of the executive committee.
“Dan’s a very community-minded guy,” Brunel says. “He’s always been involved in projects and organizations that will benefit his industry and his community.”
Lately, Brunel says, Mazier’s activities have mainly been around the local school board and the Elton Energy Co-operative, which seeks to build and operate wind turbines in the area that will be locally owned, with the benefits flowing back to the local community.
A farm or a business?
Dan Mazier knew one thing when he quit his job at the local fertilizer plant to go farming full time — he didn’t want to be running a “typical” dryland grain farm.
Not that there’s anything wrong with those enormous operations that can easily cover 10,000 acres — but he knew it wasn’t for him.
The overhead costs are too high, the risks too great, and too many of the important variables, like what price you received for your product, are entirely outside of your control. That’s why he’s slowly working towards another model — one that borrows a page from the broader business community.
“We build these businesses, then at the end of the day, we sell them for the price of the assets,” Mazier explains.
“But what if we actually treated them like a business? What if you could get bought out for the business, not the value of the assets?”
For a farm, Mazier says he thinks that means developing your own markets, likely on the local level. He’s been slowly moving his operation in that direction, though he concedes “we’re not there yet.”
His 1,000 acres of grainland, which he farms in an equipment partnership with his brother, also has a small beef herd and a small broiler operation that sells to the local market. And this is definitely the direction he sees his farm heading in the future.
“To me that local market just makes sense,” Mazier explains. “Why are we importing so much of our food when we can produce it here?”
By pursuing that market, Mazier calculates he can build a business that will be worth more at the end of the day than the going price of 1,000 acres of land.
“It would be neat as a farmer if, when I retire, I could say, here’s my farm, my land is worth so much an acre, but here’s my business plan, and it’s worth $1 million — and if you won’t take it somebody else will.”
“Any time you vote to give away a piece of democracy, you’re giving away your right to have any local influence at all.”
— Dan Mazier
ing table. Black is the executive director of the Centre for Rural Leadership (CRL), which offers the province’s farmers leadership training through the Advanced Agriculture Leadership Program.
The 19-month part-time program has been running for the past 25 years, and every year the majority of the participants are farmers.
“Our sector brings a lot of energy, and folks who think about the future and have a vision,” Black says. “There’s a real ‘get ’er done’ attitude.”
Farmers also tend to be firmly rooted in one geographic spot, Black adds. That means that in an age of labour mobility and constant motion, farmers are often the most stable mainstays of any smaller community in Canada. Sometimes, they’re the only stability.
“They bring a real sense of community,” Black says. “They know what doors to knock on, and who to talk to. They have a keen sense of who’s in their community.”
Mazier’s public career began via a path beaten by generations of farmers — the province’s general farm organization, the Keystone Agricultural Producers, a group that he joined a decade ago, just after moving back out to the farm to spend more time working on the operation.
At around the same time, he got involved in the Canadian Young Farmers’ Forum, through his KAP activities, and was heavily involved in setting up a young farmers’ committee for the provincial group.
“The Young Farmers Forum is a great organization, and that’s where I all of a sudden realized that it was a lot bigger world out there than I ever thought it was,” Mazier explains.
He soon found himself attending national meetings in Vancouver and Ottawa and pondering the big issues of the day in agriculture.
These days Rob Brunel heads KAP’s Young Farmers Committee, and he’s also a vice-president of the executive committee.
“Dan’s a very community-minded guy,” Brunel says. “He’s always been involved in projects and organizations that will benefit his industry and his community.”
Lately, Brunel says, Mazier’s activities have mainly been around the local school board and the Elton Energy Co-operative, which seeks to build and operate wind turbines in the area that will be locally owned, with the benefits flowing back to the local community.
COMMUNITY POWER
Anyone who’s ever tried to get any spraying done in western Manitoba can tell you there’s no shortage of the required raw material, or space to put up turbines.
The missing piece was a way to capture more of the benefits of the operations for local landowners, and prevent them from entering into contracts that might result in loss of too much control over their land.
As an example, Mazier cites one wind contract he saw recently where the wind company banned oil installations on the same land.
It was these types of concerns, along with a desire to see more of the potential income come back to the communities that made Mazier wonder if there might be a better model — a community model.
He began talking to other farmers in the area and the group realized early on that they needed to formally organize — and Mazier says the structure that made sense was an old one that’s recently fallen out of favour: the co-operative.
“A co-op makes the most sense for a low-population area,” Mazier says. “It’s an easy legal entity to get into and it works for a local community.”
But when it comes to getting a new co-operative up and running, there are a couple of major hurdles that need to be cleared.
First there’s the misconception that coops are outdated, old-fashioned and somehow aren’t a valid business model.
“There’s a kind of a stigma attached to that,” Mazier says with a chuckle. “People think you’re a socialist. But I just want to make sure we do all right.”
Then, once everyone’s on board with setting up a co-op, there’s the grunt work of making it happen — and over the past couple of generations the farm community has lost a skill that used to be second nature, Mazier says.
“No one’s done it in this area for years,” Mazier says. “Our parents had the local Co-op (retail stores) and the Pool (elevators). Now I’m looking to the 60-year-olds, and they’re saying ‘That was Dad’s generation. We got rid of that.’”
The group’s plans include constructing two wind turbines that would generate three megawatts of power annually for local homes and businesses. Mazier says it boils down to simple trade economics.
Manitoba pays about $2,200 every year for every man, woman and child for energy that’s imported to the province, but if more of that energy can be generated locally, there’s less of a trade deficit, Mazier says, making those businesses more competitive.
Back to school
When I ask Mazier why he chose to become involved in the local school board, I’m not really all that surprised to see the idealism peek through again.
He explains that he sees communities playing a vital role in developing new citizens — and very few institutions play a more important role than schools.
“I always wanted to be a school trustee,” he says.
“When I speak to graduating classes I tell them education is a very important thing. It gives people the ability to learn and adapt. We’re living in an ever-changing world and if you ever stop learning, you’re not adapting. That’s the bottom line.”
Part of that learning and adapting these days is on the part of school boards themselves, Mazier says. Years ago the boards had a much more powerful role to play. They hired and fired teachers and principals and actively controlled the local schools down to the most minute detail.
Over the past several decades that’s changed. The division superintendent these days is much more like a CEO, who handles the day-to-day operation of the division and its schools.
The provincial Education Department plays a far larger role as well, determining much of the core curriculum and funding. The local division’s board is much like a corporate board, with the responsibility for setting broad policy, providing local input and “asking the hard questions,” Mazier says.
“People have said to us, ‘What does a school board do now?’ They can run nicely without one. You could do away with it and let the government deal directly with superintendents,” Mazier concedes. “But what you’d be doing is giving up the local accountability. Any time you vote to give away a piece of democracy, you’re giving away your right to have any local influence at all.”
A quick glance through the minutes of the division’s biweekly board meetings shows that the work isn’t glamorous — it really does boil down to the nuts and bolts of democracy in action. The trustees are considering such basics as field trip requests, supervisor-to-student ratios, administration reports and safety and operational policies — exactly the sort of behind-the-scenes work that you never notice or think of when it is being competently dealt with.
CRL’s Rob Black says that’s par for the course when it comes to community involvement. Frequently the greatest satisfaction will be knowing you’re doing a good job and contributing, he says.
“You’ll probably never get the recognition you deserve,” Black says. “The payback is seeing your community or organization get ahead, and knowing you played a vital part.”
Mazier says when the board sits down there’s a lot of life experience at the table. There are a couple of other farmers on the board, as well as small business people, retirees, and employees of local businesses and governments.
“We have some great discussions,” Mazier says. “We all bring our own unique perspective to it.”
In the end, Mazier says he’s sure his colleagues on the board and he share one important belief — that what they’re doing is, most importantly, giving young people the tools and opportunity they need to succeed.
“The bottom line is, we have to make productive citizens,” Mazier says. “We do have these kids for 18 years. What kind of people would we be if we didn’t give them an education and that sort of full-throttle ‘here’s what you can do’ kind of attitude?”
Towards the end of his tenure at KAP, Mazier also became interested in the growing wind power market. (See sidebar.)
Lifelong
I ask Mazier why he spends so much of his time on local community activities. From what I learn from CRL’s Rob Black, I should probably expect that no matter what Mazier says, he’ll continue being involved. It’s typical of community leaders, Black says. They’re the people who make things happen, and they tend to appear and reappear, again and again.
“There’s a lot of truth to that old line: If you want to get something done, you ask a busy person,” Black says.
Mazier’s answer to my question is a simple one.
“I like doing it. It makes me feel useful.”
So I ask him, how long does he think he’ll be involved in community development efforts? Or will he someday decide he’s done his part?
“I don’t know if you ever give up that ghost and say it’s someone else’s battle now,” he says with a smile. “I think I might wind up being active in a seniors’ organization.” CG
COMMUNITY POWER
Anyone who’s ever tried to get any spraying done in western Manitoba can tell you there’s no shortage of the required raw material, or space to put up turbines.
The missing piece was a way to capture more of the benefits of the operations for local landowners, and prevent them from entering into contracts that might result in loss of too much control over their land.
As an example, Mazier cites one wind contract he saw recently where the wind company banned oil installations on the same land.
It was these types of concerns, along with a desire to see more of the potential income come back to the communities that made Mazier wonder if there might be a better model — a community model.
He began talking to other farmers in the area and the group realized early on that they needed to formally organize — and Mazier says the structure that made sense was an old one that’s recently fallen out of favour: the co-operative.
“A co-op makes the most sense for a low-population area,” Mazier says. “It’s an easy legal entity to get into and it works for a local community.”
But when it comes to getting a new co-operative up and running, there are a couple of major hurdles that need to be cleared.
First there’s the misconception that coops are outdated, old-fashioned and somehow aren’t a valid business model.
“There’s a kind of a stigma attached to that,” Mazier says with a chuckle. “People think you’re a socialist. But I just want to make sure we do all right.”
Then, once everyone’s on board with setting up a co-op, there’s the grunt work of making it happen — and over the past couple of generations the farm community has lost a skill that used to be second nature, Mazier says.
“No one’s done it in this area for years,” Mazier says. “Our parents had the local Co-op (retail stores) and the Pool (elevators). Now I’m looking to the 60-year-olds, and they’re saying ‘That was Dad’s generation. We got rid of that.’”
The group’s plans include constructing two wind turbines that would generate three megawatts of power annually for local homes and businesses. Mazier says it boils down to simple trade economics.
Manitoba pays about $2,200 every year for every man, woman and child for energy that’s imported to the province, but if more of that energy can be generated locally, there’s less of a trade deficit, Mazier says, making those businesses more competitive.
Back to school
When I ask Mazier why he chose to become involved in the local school board, I’m not really all that surprised to see the idealism peek through again.
He explains that he sees communities playing a vital role in developing new citizens — and very few institutions play a more important role than schools.
“I always wanted to be a school trustee,” he says.
“When I speak to graduating classes I tell them education is a very important thing. It gives people the ability to learn and adapt. We’re living in an ever-changing world and if you ever stop learning, you’re not adapting. That’s the bottom line.”
Part of that learning and adapting these days is on the part of school boards themselves, Mazier says. Years ago the boards had a much more powerful role to play. They hired and fired teachers and principals and actively controlled the local schools down to the most minute detail.
Over the past several decades that’s changed. The division superintendent these days is much more like a CEO, who handles the day-to-day operation of the division and its schools.
The provincial Education Department plays a far larger role as well, determining much of the core curriculum and funding. The local division’s board is much like a corporate board, with the responsibility for setting broad policy, providing local input and “asking the hard questions,” Mazier says.
“People have said to us, ‘What does a school board do now?’ They can run nicely without one. You could do away with it and let the government deal directly with superintendents,” Mazier concedes. “But what you’d be doing is giving up the local accountability. Any time you vote to give away a piece of democracy, you’re giving away your right to have any local influence at all.”
A quick glance through the minutes of the division’s biweekly board meetings shows that the work isn’t glamorous — it really does boil down to the nuts and bolts of democracy in action. The trustees are considering such basics as field trip requests, supervisor-to-student ratios, administration reports and safety and operational policies — exactly the sort of behind-the-scenes work that you never notice or think of when it is being competently dealt with.
CRL’s Rob Black says that’s par for the course when it comes to community involvement. Frequently the greatest satisfaction will be knowing you’re doing a good job and contributing, he says.
“You’ll probably never get the recognition you deserve,” Black says. “The payback is seeing your community or organization get ahead, and knowing you played a vital part.”
Mazier says when the board sits down there’s a lot of life experience at the table. There are a couple of other farmers on the board, as well as small business people, retirees, and employees of local businesses and governments.
“We have some great discussions,” Mazier says. “We all bring our own unique perspective to it.”
In the end, Mazier says he’s sure his colleagues on the board and he share one important belief — that what they’re doing is, most importantly, giving young people the tools and opportunity they need to succeed.
“The bottom line is, we have to make productive citizens,” Mazier says. “We do have these kids for 18 years. What kind of people would we be if we didn’t give them an education and that sort of full-throttle ‘here’s what you can do’ kind of attitude?”
Towards the end of his tenure at KAP, Mazier also became interested in the growing wind power market. (See sidebar.)
Lifelong
I ask Mazier why he spends so much of his time on local community activities. From what I learn from CRL’s Rob Black, I should probably expect that no matter what Mazier says, he’ll continue being involved. It’s typical of community leaders, Black says. They’re the people who make things happen, and they tend to appear and reappear, again and again.
“There’s a lot of truth to that old line: If you want to get something done, you ask a busy person,” Black says.
Mazier’s answer to my question is a simple one.
“I like doing it. It makes me feel useful.”
So I ask him, how long does he think he’ll be involved in community development efforts? Or will he someday decide he’s done his part?
“I don’t know if you ever give up that ghost and say it’s someone else’s battle now,” he says with a smile. “I think I might wind up being active in a seniors’ organization.” CG
